Appliance
by dontgiveahoot
Summary: Who repairs the repairer? Who heals the healer? Donatello decides to press on with his workload regardless, with the aid of plenty of coffee and aspirin. After all, it can't be that bad...
1. Prologue: Klunkity Klunk Klunk

_Obligatory Disclaimer: The TMNT, Master Splinter, April O'Neill, Casey Jones, Angel, Leatherhead, Professor Honeycutt and Klunk do not belong to me, they all belong to Laird and Eastman, and Mirage Studios. _

_Important Author's Notes: This fic was inspired by a challenge on the Stealthy Stories forum. It takes place in the second half of the fourth season, after Leo comes home from Japan and Bishop's alien virus starts screwing up the city's bug life. However, the Good Genes arc doesn't happen in this fic – in a sense it's a replacement for that arc. I kind of need it to be that way. _

_Also, this fic deals with something that I don't think many people tackle much in fanfics in any fandom. We've all seen fics in most fandoms about characters being addicted to substances like alcohol or illicit drugs. But what if it were something much more mundane and everyday? What if it were something you thought was perfectly harmless and used all the time? What if you weren't in denial of an addiction, but rather didn't even realise a problem could be possible?_

-- "I've been worried a lot lately… Master Splinter tells me that I worry too much. Okay, you tell me. Should I be worried?" – Donatello, _Scion of the Shredder_ (Season 4 Episode 15)

**APPLIANCE.**

There were still several hours left before the sun was due to rise, and already it looked like it was going to be a very, very long day.

"Do you HAVE to be so difficult?" Donatello hissed in exasperation, keeping his voice down in deference to the horrifically early hour and the rest of his family who were clearly saner than he was, since they were all asleep. He didn't receive an answer from his antagonist, not did he expect one. Gritting his teeth and mentally cursing manufacturers that made caps that were not only child-proof but apparently ninja-proof and turtle-proof as well, he finally wrestled the aspirin bottle open and quickly shook a couple of tablets into his hand. Recapping the bottle and replacing it in the cupboard as quickly and quietly as he could, he swallowed the aspirin with a mouthful of cold coffee, grimacing as his stomach protested. He stared at the silent, still and now empty coffee maker balefully. _Still, it'll have to do for now. I can't start a new pot just yet or it'll be cold by the time the guys get up, then I'll have to make another one again. Cold coffee is better than no coffee, I guess. Besides, there's far too much to do. I need to finish that program for the security systems before I can even think of catching a nap before early morning practice…_

Taking his mug of cold wake-up juice back into his lab, he set the cup down and absently rubbed at his sore leg where the sliced flesh continued to throb and ache. Briefly wondering why it still hadn't started to heal yet, Don glanced at his computer and promptly forgot all about his leg, his headache, his coffee, and just about everything else. _Oh no, no no no, I am NOT seeing this!_

He'd grown accustomed to Klunk's company whenever he pulled an all-nighter. Truth be told, he rather liked it. There was something strangely comforting about the soft purring as Mikey's beloved cat curled up on the computer tower and watched him drowsily with curious golden eyes. Unfortunately, Klunk had occasionally expressed interest in Don's racing hands as they rapidly typed, flying over the keyboard. He'd even occasionally swatted at the green hand playfully. Don had never minded – after all, Klunk was just interpreting things from a cat's point of view, and it must have seemed as though Donatello was spending many nights toying with some very strange type of prey. Don had usually found that gently but firmly lifting the bundle of soft fur back onto the warm, whirring computer tower usually settled him right back down. However, this time Klunk had obviously taken advantage of Don's absence to create his own rendition of "Kitten On The Keyboard".

Right in the middle of some very intricate reprogramming for the vitally important security systems.

"Klunk!" Springing forward, he snatched the frolicking feline off his precious keyboard, ignoring the squawk of protest from the cat as he stared in dismay at the monitor, which showed that several hours of work had been transformed into barely-salvageable gibberish. Barely.

Turning his attention to the squirming cat in his hands, Donnie's furious glare faded as he realised that Klunk was frantically digging claws into his hands, squirming, trying to get out of his grip. A grip that was far too tight, and squeezing Klunk too hard.

"Oh shell! Klunk, I'm so sorry!" Quickly setting Klunk down, he watched as the family feline scrambled away from him into the safety of the lair without even pausing to straighten his ruffled fur. Don winced, rubbing his hands where Klunk's claws had scratched him in an effort to loosen his grasp. _I… I nearly hurt Klunk. What if I HAD hurt him? Mikey would never forgive me. I'm not sure I could forgive myself. What sort of monster hurts a helpless cat over something so small? Well… Okay. Maybe not quite so small. Rather big, actually. _He stared at the monitor, which cheerfully mocked him from its position on the desk, before sighing and thumping his head against the wall.

**THUD. THUD. THUD.**

_So much for fixing my headache. Oh well, it can keep my leg company. And my stomach. Ow. _Rubbing at his plastron above his pained stomach, he wondered why he seemed to get an upset stomach so often nowadays.Shaking his head, he sighed. He had more important things to worry about than that. Estimating how long this mess would take to repair, for example. _No way will this be finished by early morning practice. And it's all my own fault – I know better than to leave the computer without saving my work_.

Making a mental note to put aspirin on the shopping list – again – Don began the long process of reading over the entire program, checking each line carefully for cat-induced errors.

Yes. This was going to be a very, very long day.

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It was Splinter's habit to awaken early in the morning before his sons. In fact, until recently only very unusual circumstances would cause him to awaken to any sounds other than the soft snores and sighs of his four boys. In the last year, however, other habits had developed, and Splinter's ears flicked as he assessed the sounds of his home in the pre-dawn hours. Two sets of not-so-soft snores made him smile softly – Raphael and Michaelangelo. They slept as they did everything else – whole-heartedly and energetically. They had been the restless sleepers as children – he had long lost track of the amount of times Leonardo or Donatello had come to him complaining that Raphael was kicking them in his sleep, or that Michaelangelo had stolen the blankets. _Ah, kids._

Of course, this had probably encouraged the other two in their habits. Donatello had always been the last to fall asleep and the first to awaken as a child, as his curiosity to learn of the world around him was without end, even though his life in the sewers had not been so fortunate or limitless. And Leonardo had also preferred to wake up early, though he had not been the night owl Donatello had been. Instead, he had learned early of the value of peace that could be enjoyed prior to the awakening of his brothers.

Speaking of his early-bird students… He was not surprised to hear the sounds of warm-up katas being performed in the dojo. For a worryingly long time, this had been an everyday occurance to wake up to, as Leonardo battled constantly against an imaginary opponent while ignoring the true antagonist deep inside. Thankfully, with the help of the Ancient One, he had finally faced this inner battle, and won. But Leonardo was still the son that was most devoted to ninjutsu, as he always had been, and he often chose to begin the day by waking early and spending a short time in solitary practice. _That is fine, my son, if you so wish it. As long as you do not forget again that solitary is not how your life was intended to be. Your brothers and I are watching you, and we shall not allow you to forget._

And speaking of brothers… yes, Splinter could hear the telltale clickity-clackity sound of Donatello typing at full speed. He frowned. _I do hope he has not been awake all night again. A hobby is quite fine, and I will not deny that his technological abilities have made our home safer and more comfortable in a considerably short period of time, but he is neither properly focussed on the lesson, nor capable during sparring practice after these sleepless nights._ Pondering the matter, Splinter finally decided to let the issue be for now. _If there is no improvement, I shall talk to him later. But Donatello is observant, and I imagine a few morning sessions at the wrong end of his brothers' blows will remind him quickly to go to sleep at a more reasonable hour. Plus, I must take his injured leg into account – although he appears to be quite comfortable in placing weight on it now. _

Decision made, Splinter rose and began preparations for the morning ahead. After all, there was much to be done.

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A/N – what did you think? Please review. This is only the prologue – there's plenty more yet to go.


	2. Strawberry, Blackberry, Apricot, Peach

Here's the next part. Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement, and I hope you enjoy!

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Don stared at the food on his plate, pushing it around with his fork unenthusiastically. This morning Mikey had really outdone himself – he'd made omelettes that were frankly perfect, light and fluffy and stuffed to the brim with fillings galore. And if Donnie had been feeling any better, he would have eaten the whole serving and gladly accepted seconds. Unfortunately, he really didn't feel up to the task of eating anything. It was rather disturbing, actually – to have the mere scent of a meal send your stomach twisting in horror even as it made your mouth water. He wasn't sure he could eat it, but he couldn't bring himself to hurt Mikey's feelings either. _Not after all the effort he's put into this, it would just be cruel_. Steeling himself, he took a bite, trying to concentrate on the taste rather than on the pain that stabbed him in the gut when he swallowed. Quickly taking a mouthful of coffee, he repeated the procedure. Of course, this meant that by the time he'd made his way through breakfast, he'd also made his way through two extra-strong cups of coffee and was heading towards the coffee maker for a third when Leo spoke up. "Uh, Don… you're having more coffee?" The question was hesitant and a touch disapproving. "You know that much isn't good for you."

Raph snorted. "Leave him alone, Fearless. The brainiac here's been making stuff for us ta use against those mutant _bugs_." The last word was filled with deep loathing, but nobody dared comment. After all, Raph wasn't the only one of them who found these particular bugs disturbing. "An' if he drinks some coffee, it ain't gonna hurt him."

Don immediately smiled gratefully at Raph – and at Leo too. Raph's comment had gotten him off the hook for now, but he knew that Leo meant well and he appreciated it. Even now, he was still glad that Leo had returned from Japan as the Leo that they all knew and could trust, and he tried to show it, though he wasn't always sure if the message made it through. "Thanks, Raph. And Leo, I'm fine, honest. It's just that I'm trying to make a more powerful tranquiliser for the dart guns so that we don't have to use as many shots per creature, but getting the dosage right is a finicky process. And I'm trying to make the darts themselves stronger in case we encounter a creature with a tougher hide, but that naturally involves a lot of modification to the darts we have and possibly requiring entirely new needles, so I need to…" He trailed off, realising that the others had promptly tuned him out sometime after 'more powerful tranquiliser'. _Maybe I should just TALK the mutant bugs into catatonia_, he thought wryly. _It certainly seems to work wonders on THESE mutants…_ "Um, yeah. So anyway, thanks. And Mikey, breakfast tasted great. Thanks for making it." He was well aware that the kitchen was Mikey's area of expertise, and tried to remember to show his appreciation. After all, his own culinary attempts were at least edible, but anything beyond the most basic of cookery was simply beyond him. Not that that bothered him - he didn't want to steal his brother's thunder. _Well, unless he goes on about the Battle Nexus again this week. _

"No problem, bro!" Mikey beamed so widely it nearly split his face in half. "Glad you liked it! I'll make it again tomorrow if you want!"

_I am not going to think about tomorrow right now. Nope. Just have the rest of my coffee and grab some aspirin and I'll be fine…_ "Thanks, Mikey, but you shouldn't go through any trouble –"

"Oh, it's no trouble… hey, you aren't going already? There's still plenty of toast left, Don! You want strawberry jelly, blackberry jelly or apricot jelly?"

_Uh-oh_. Don turned around and opened the kitchen cabinet, searching for the ever-elusive aspirin. Grabbing the bottle with a rush of relief, he quickly poured several tablets out into his hand. "Um, I've had plenty, Mikey, I don't really need any toast –"

"You haven't really eaten all that much, though," Leo pointed out. "Some toast would probably do you some good." _Thanks a lot, Leo. I don't want any toast!_

Mikey shook his head in mock disapproval. "Even if I must fight him myself, no way am I letting a brother of mine go without!" he said, striking a dramatic pose before beginning to slathered several slices of toast thickly with the jelly, seemingly not minding if the jars ended up with a large amount of mix-and-match inside them. "And if I must fight him, then it is a fight I will win, for I am the BATTLE NEXUS – OW! Raaph!"

"How's about letting him go without a diabetic shock?" Raph asked sarcastically. "Jeez, Mikey, not everyone runs on pure sugar, you know?" Ignoring Raph, Mikey firmly presented Don with three 'sandwiches' of toast, announcing cheerfully, "Here you go! One of each!"

_Oh goody_. "Thanks Mikey. I, um, appreciate this. Really." And he did appreciate the thought, but – more food? _I don't know if I can eat this, but I can't hurt his feelings either. _Gingerly taking the sticky mound of toast, he balanced it in one hand and grabbed his coffee with the other, the aspirin still tucked inside his palm. "I'll just eat it while I work, okay?"

"Hey, sure thing! You need a snack while you work, just yell out! Nothing's too good for a brother of mine!" Another dramatic Battle Nexus Champion Pose was struck.

Raph snorted in disgust. "Then how about giving us all some quiet, doofus?"

Don decided to make his escape before more food could be pressed upon him. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him, as he was interrupted in his lab half an hour later. "Um, Donnie? My very favourite brother in the whole wide world?"

Don sighed. "Yeah, Mikey?"

"Well, see, I was playing Super Mario Galaxy, but then the Wii-mote flew out of my hand, right? Totally an accident, it could happen to anyone! Anyway, it kind of smacked right into the Wii, and… well, it's sort of –"

"Broken?"

"…Yeah." Holding the rather sad remains of the Wii-mote out for his brother to inspect, Mikey said hopefully, "The Wii doesn't look this bad, I'm sort of hoping it'll be okay…"

"I'd better take a look at it." Last time Mikey tried to fix one of his games consoles on his own, the result had been nothing short of spectacularly disastrous, and Don had expressly forbidden him from trying that ever again on the basis that it was easier, safer and faster to fix it himself.

"Would you? Aw, thanks Donnie! You're the best bro ever!"

Donnie rolled his eyes and punched his brother's shoulder affectionately. "In that case, would you get your 'best bro ever' some coffee and aspirin? He's going to need it if you want to get back to saving Princess Pear any time soon."

"Princess PEACH, Dude!"

_Whatever._ "Fine, fine, Peach. Happy?"

"Um, not quite. Didn't you like your toast?" And Mikey pointed at the uneaten toast sitting in a stack on the desk, a silent accusation. "And you want some aspirin? You not feeling well, dude?"

_Oh shell._ "No, Mikey, it wasn't that, I, um… just lost track of time. Bit of a headache, nothing major. I probably just caught a cold or something. I'll eat the toast right now, promise." Don didn't want the toast, but he definitely didn't want the Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Doom delivered upon him either.

"But it'll be COLD! I'll go make you a new lot!"

"No, it's okay, Mikey." Don resigned himself to eating the toast. Better that than risking Mikey coming out of the kitchen with twice the amount of toast currently facing him. "Now, what happened with the Wii again?"

"Well, see, I was jumping from planet to planet, looking for a powerup, and then this Goomba just comes out of NOWHERE and when I tried to jump on his head, I must have flicked it too hard 'cause that's when it flew off."

"Mikey, you do know that the wrist straps are supposed to be used to stop that happening, right?"

Mikey made a face. "Well yeah, but I don't LIKE them! They are seriously annoying, bro, you know what I'm saying? Besides, they could be dangerous! Cutting off all your circulation like that!"

"Not as dangerous as having it fly out of your hand and hit something, though. Especially if the thing you hit had been Raph," Don pointed out logically, though he knew it was futile. Mikey thought that the Wii-mote was the best controller for a games system ever, and had an unfortunate tendency to unconsciously whirl the Wii-mote like a nunchaku. _At least he didn't smash a TV. That would have been a real pain in the shell. Everyone would have been mad at him. This way, the only one inconvenienced is Mikey, so they'll just figure it's his own problem and leave him be. _Picking up the toast and keeping his face as neutral as possible, Don said "Well, let's go save the Nintendo from a tragic fate." Munching on the toast and sternly ordering himself not to gag at the overly-thick layer of spreadable fruit-flavoured sugar on it, he forced a smile. "So, Mikey, how about that coffee and aspirin, huh?"

"Coming right up, Donnie! Just leave it to me! Hey, I've forgotten – you have sugar in your coffee or not?"

"No! Um, no, no sugar for me. Thanks Mikey." _No more sugar today. PLEASE._

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A/N: More coming soon. Please tell me if you like this fic or not and why – every piece of feedback helps the writer!


	3. Elbow Grease

Welcome to chapter 2 of "Appliance". I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying the story so far.

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Regular vehicle maintenance was a high priority at the calmest of times, and with the Battle Shell and its systems receiving a constant workout at the moment, it was even more important. After a few days of 'accidentally' missing breakfast to avoid a Sugar Toast Cavity Attack from a well-meaning Mikey, Don felt it was somewhat safe to come out of his lab in the morning.

Raph was in the garage when he arrived, fussing over the Shell Cycle. Don rolled his eyes affectionately. _Of course. If there's a motor vehicle to be found, Raph isn't likely to be far away. _"So, what did you to do to it this time?" he asked, only half-jokingly. Raphael had been out with Casey on patrol last night, and the two of them had a disturbing tendency to break things while they were out "busting skulls". Things that usually tended to be more important items than games consoles – and more time-consuming to repair, as well.

Raph cast a sour look in his direction. "I didn't DO anything to it! I'm checking it out ta make sure there ain't nothing wrong with it for the next time we use it."

"Sorry, Raph." He rubbed at his eyes. _Gotta stop jumping to conclusions – that wasn't fair to Raph. When he's broken something, he always tells me right away. He never tries to hide it._

His brother had already turned and was walking toward the door. "I was waiting for YOU to see if ya wanted my help on all o' these, but hey, if'n ya don't, I got plenty of other stuff to do." Don winced._ Oh, he's ticked off, all right. You're a real shell-for-brains, Don._

"Raph, I'm sorry. Really. I shouldn't have said that. I just – **achoo! Achoo! A-CHOO!**" Don's apology was cut off by a cascade of sneezes that left him doubled over and sniffling. _Ow. Ow. _One hand came unconsciously up to cradle his ribs. _That really hurt. _

Raph's brow wrinkled as he turned back to cast a critical eye on his brother. "Hey, bro, you okay? I didn't think it was that dusty in here…"

Don waved a hand as he righted himself. _Focus. Things to do. List to complete. No time for this._ "Yeah, I'm fine, Raph. Just a bit of a virus, I guess."

"Yeah – you been taking aspirin for a few days now, I remember that. You want me ta getcha some more?"

"Would you?" Don cast a grateful look at his brother. "I'd really appreciate that. It helps to have a clear head when I'm working, you know?"

"Yeah, I hear ya there. Be back in a minute. Want coffee too?"

"Please. Oh, and no sugar."

Raph snorted. "Don't have ta tell me not to put sugar into everything, brainiac. I look like Mikey ta you?" But the angry edge was gone from his voice, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in the Raph-version of amusement. Don smiled back, relaxing a little. "Back in a minute with yer supplies. Don't go nowhere."

"Thanks." Flipping up the hood of the Battle Shell, he began a sight-check on the motor for anything that in need of repair or replacement. Because of the mutant outbreak, the former moving van was now required to stop and start virtually without warning, as well as go at speeds not quite wise for such a large vehicle. _Maybe replace all the brake lines just in case, and refit the stabilisers, and reinforcing the chassis couldn't hurt either… and that's not counting the weapons arrays and sensor systems…still, it shouldn't be too bad…_

"What shouldn't be too bad?" Raph's voice right behind him made him jump, banging his head on the hood. _OW! _Hand on the lump he was certain was already forming, he turned around to see Raph with a steaming cup of coffee held in one hand, some aspirin in the other, and a rather startled look on his face.

"Oh, I was just thinking about the things that I should probably check on and try to upgrade on the Battle Shell – maybe try to enhance some of the same things on the Shell Cycle –"

"Maybe ya should leave it for a little while, bro." Raph looked at him in a shrewd, studying manner which Don found distinctly unnerving. "Yer leg hasn't healed up much yet, and ya just banged yer head. This stuff can wait till tomorrow."

"No, it can't." Don shook his aching head, ignoring the pain in favour of gratefully taking the hot coffee and aspirin and swallowing them hungrily. "At the very least I have to perform all the basic safety checks, and to get anything more complicated done in time I need help. And you're the only one who knows what I'm talking about with motor vehicles and the machinery involved." _Which makes you the only other one of us to understand what I'm talking about with ANY kind of machinery._ "So since you're already working on the Shell Cycle, I need to do it now while you're free, or half of it won't get done."

Raph still didn't look entirely convinced, but he let it go. "You really need me that bad, huh?" He looked a bit unsure of the notion.

Don looked up, surprised. "Of course I need your help, Raph. I always appreciate it when you can spare some time to help me with the vehicles." He bit his lip as guilt turned the coffee sour in his stomach. _Didn't I ever tell him that I appreciated his help? No wonder he nearly stormed out just then! It would really have served me right!_

"Yeah?" A pleased look crossed his brother's features, which quickly smothered into a cough. "Well, I don't mind givin' ya a hand, so ya can always call out. Not that I go messing with these things unless you're around, aside from the Shell Cycle. Wouldn't wanna tread on yer territory or nothing."

Frankly Don didn't mind this at all. He didn't want Raph messing with the Battle Shell unsupervised either. His brother had a worrying tendency to believe that 'faster' automatically meant an improvement, and the Battle Shell was a lot less maneuverable at high speeds than its motorcycle counterpart. "That's fine, Raph. The Shell Cycle is yours, after all – I'm glad you enjoy working on it." He knew that Raph and Casey spent quite a few nights doing some male bonding over the Shell Cycle, passing tools and trading good-natured insults with ease. _Lucky Raph – even poor Klunk won't hang out with me with my work any more._ He just considered himself fortunate that Klunk wasn't hostile to him.

"Yeah, fun. So, what were you planning to do for fun then today, brainiac?"

Don made a face. "Before or after I clean the bathroom?"

"Eurgh."

'Eurgh' was definitely right. "Yeah. Not fun. But after that, I'll be headed over to Leatherhead's to try and finish the containment unit. Hand me the crescent wrench?"

Raph slapped the tool in question firmly into his palm, making him bite back a wince. "The containment unit, huh? You think ya can actually make it to hold one of those things?" Disgust was clear in Raph's voice at the thought of keeping one of the violent mutant creatures in their home, or Leatherhead's home.

"Well, there is always a probability of failure, but in this case I think that the base structure, which itself is rather heavy, is an aid to the integrity, since the real strength comes from the underlying matrix of… uh, do you want the long answer or the short one?"

"The short one."

"Okay - yes, I think that it will work, though there's never any guarantees, naturally."

Raph shook his head. "And THAT'S the answer I was askin' about. See, why can'tcha just SAY that ta start with?"

Don sighed. _And this is why I don't let him touch any of the OTHER machines._ "It looks like we might need some more brake lines. Let's see here…"

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There were three sets of chores that were universally acknowledged by all four brothers as being the worst in the whole Lair – cleaning the dojo, cleaning the bathroom and cleaning the kitchen. Being in constant use by five people, four of whom were teenage boys, these rooms were invariably a nightmare when the time came to clean them, and nobody ever wanted to do it. Splinter was well aware that these chores were considered the most unpleasant, and as such did his best to assign them in an alternating rota so that no one got the same chore twice running, or more than one of the hated chores in a week.

And this time it was Donatello's turn to do the bathroom.

_It has to get done anyway, and it shouldn't take me too long – I hope. _Despite many efforts and failed hypotheses, Donnie had yet to find a logical explanation for how the bathroom managed to get so filthy given it had water running through it several times a day. Sighing, he started to pull the cleaners out of the cabinet, gagging as the chemical smell hit him. "Ugh!" _At least I escaped Mikey's sugar toast supreme – no way would I be able to keep it down this time either. _Covering his face with one hand as best he could, he started scrubbing at the toilet grimly, wanting to get the worst part of the whole job over with as soon as possible. Of course, cleaning the shower was no picnic either, especially with Splinter's fur clogging up the drain. And that damn abrasive smell seemed to get everywhere – into his head, burning his sinuses, and even down into his lungs and his stomach. Which was scientifically impossible unless he'd swallowed some, and he hadn't.

He hadn't.

And he definitely wasn't going to –

Falling to his knees in front of the toilet just in time, Donnie lost all the contents of his stomach, choking on the burning bile in his throat. Every time he felt like he'd finally finished, a new wave of nausea hit him, bringing up more burning fluid. _Not again! Damn it, I don't have time for this! I haven't got time to be sick anymore. There's far too much to do and now I've got to clean the toilet again, on top of it all!_

Flushing the vile contents and its smell away, he leaned his head against the cool porcelain and tried to breathe – which he instantly acknowledged as a mistake. _Ow. And I thought my stomach was hurting before,_ he thought wryly. _Okay. Focus. Things to do, need to stick to the list. Security systems, check. Shell Cells, mine works with that new upgrade but I still need to reprogram the others, especially Master Splinter's. I think he fried it again . So right now that leaves my main tasks as getting them to give their Shell Cells to me, keeping up the maintainance and checks on the Battle Shell and the Shell Cycle, and making sure we have enough equipment and tranquillisers for this mutant outbreak that's threatening the city, as well as finishing that containment unit Leatherhead and I are constructing. Which is where I was supposed to be half an hour ago._

_And here I am, scrubbing the toilet for the second time because I puked again at the smell of bleach. Terrific work, Don. _

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A/N : Please review, because your thoughts on how well or how badly I'm writing help me make the next part better. Constructive criticism is strongly welcomed. Flames, not so much.


	4. Of Slides And Friends

Author's Notes: We don't see Professor Honeycutt with Leatherhead in the Good Genes arc, but at the end of season 3 it's strongly implied that Leatherhead has invited Honeycutt into his home as a housemate, so that is the way I'm writing this scene. (I have a fondness for Honeycutt, and I think he and Leatherhead make an excellent pair of friends.)

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"Ah, Donatello. Welcome once more to my home." Leatherhead's voice, warm and friendly, startled Don out of his hazy thoughts. _What? I left the Lair, and – oh, yes. The containment unit. I must have walked here without even thinking. That's rather strange… I'll have to do something about that later. After I finish the jobs on the list. _

"Hi, Leatherhead. How are you? And Professor Honeycutt?"

"I am fine, my friend." Leatherhead paused, a puzzled look crossing his face.

"I, too, am quite well, Donatello." The voice of Professor Honeycutt preceded his head, popping out from behind the behemoth cylinder that was the containment unit. The Fugitoid cocked his head. "However, I am not certain that the same could be applied to you. You seem somewhat fatigued. Has your leg still not healed? It seems a little swollen…"

Don sighed. _Oh, no, not you too, Professor!_ "Really, I'm okay. I just have a bit of a virus at the moment. And my leg? I've probably just tied the bandage around the gash a little too tightly."

Leatherhead was frowning now. "And has it not yet healed at all? My friend, it has been a long time since the injury was first inflicted. Perhaps…" He found himself unable to finish the sentence. _Surely my friend cannot become a beast such as these other unfortunates, a beast such as I myself on occasion fall prey to. Not Donatello, of all souls in this universe. If there is truly such a thing as cosmic justice, then it could not be possible._

Don shook his head. "No, Leatherhead. All the other creatures we've gathered data on have fallen victim to the outbreak virus relatively quickly. If I was going to suffer any ill effects from the outbreak virus, I'd have already shown significant signs of degeneration by now. As I said, it's probably just a version of the flu that won't go away. I remember that was always the first one to get sick when we were kids, and the last one to be able to shake it. I escaped the last few years, but this year it caught up to me again, that's all."

Leatherhead paused, and exchanged a glance with Professor Honeycutt. _The other Turtles and Splinter are surely keeping a close watch on him. They would have acted if they believed his situation to be dire. Perhaps I am simply overreacting. _"Very well. In that case, before we begin, I would like to show you some samples I managed to obtain recently of cells affected by the outbreak. I believe the poor specimen I collected them from was once a simple cockroach, though one cannot be sure with appearances and DNA so vilely altered. I have stained the cells so that you may see more clearly." He directed Donatello's attention to the microscope in question and observed the turtle peering at the thin glass slide, adjusting the focus while squinting down the eyepieces. In the background he could hear Professor Honeycutt resume work on the containment unit mainframe-

_**CRACK!**_

His attention was sharply drawn back to Donatello, who had jumped back from the microscope in shock.

The slide was shattered down the middle. Donatello had pushed the lens down too far.

The error of a novice, and one that Leatherhead knew that Donatello was well beyond.

"Oh, my…" The quiet voice of Professor Honeycutt seemed to speak for them all.

"Geez, Leatherhead, I'm sorry! I'm really sorry, I must have gotten careless… I can't believe I did that!" Don rubbed at his eyes, his fingers slipping around to massage at his temples. _I really cannot believe I did something so fundamentally stupid!! I've ruined a valuable specimen and I might have damaged the microscope as well! I don't believe it. I thought there was something wrong with the microscope's focus – well there probably is NOW!_

"It is all right, my friend. It seems Professor Honeycutt was correct all along – you are more fatigued than you realised. Your eyesight suffered though you did not notice until now. There is no permanent damage done. We will take a break and rest."

"No! No, Leatherhead, there's no need for that, I –"

They were gently but firmly interrupted by a voice with an unmistakeable accent. "Donatello, all organic beings require rest. Leatherhead himself has also been working for several hours without adequate respite." Ignoring the glare that his crocodilian housemate sent his way, Professor Honeycutt firmly continued. "I believe you both require to sit down and partake of some nourishment."

"I'm not hungry-"

"Liquid refreshment, then." The Fugitoid was not to be discouraged. "I know that you are quite fond of the beverage known as coffee, and we do keep some here especially for your visits. I shall make some immediately."

Donatello blinked in surprise. "You keep coffee here? For me? But Leatherhead, you hate coffee. You can't even stand the smell of it. And Professor, you can't drink it at all either."

"That is unimportant," Leatherhead pointed out calmly while directing Donatello to a seat. "You enjoy it, and you are a frequent and extremely welcome guest. It gives us pleasure to be able to indulge one of your preferences, my friend. Please allow us to do so. You are such an exceptionally generous soul that I believe you occasionally forget that others also like to give."

Donatello could have sworn that his cheeks were on fire. "I, um… thanks," he finally managed to say. _I'm not sure what they mean by 'exceptionally generous' – I just like to do my share is all. That's nothing special!_ _They really think so much of me…? Or are they just trying to be nice? Neither of them would ever lie to be cruel, I know that, but they must know I'm not that special._

The smell of coffee warming and percolating filled the room, and Don couldn't help but lift his head and sniff appreciatively before seeing Leatherhead's snout wrinkled in distaste. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It is fine, Donatello," The crocodile assured him. "Professor Honeycutt is procuring both your coffee and my tea as we speak. The same sort of tea that Master Splinter so graciously served me while I was living in your home."

"Here we are." And Professor Honeycutt stepped into the room, with a Leatherhead-sized yet delicate cup of green tea, and a bright blue mug full of black coffee. "I believe the colloquial phrase is 'wake-up juice'?"

Don couldn't help but laugh. "Something like that, Professor." He stared carefully at the robotic hand that passed him the mug, then at the rest of the metallic body. "Uh, pardon the question, Professor, but have you made any alterations to your structure?"

"Oh, yes." The Fugitoid sounded deeply pleased to have been asked. "Leatherhead kindly agreed to make some modifications to me after I expressed concern regarding medical welfare. After all, I can normally do so little for you all, and medical upgrades allow me to aid you much more substantially should you need such assistance. And with the situation the way it currently is, I believe that some of these will be necessary – though there are some that I dearly hope will never be needed."

Swallowing a mouthful of coffee, Donatello immediately looked interested. "Really? What sort, if you don't mind my asking? Do you think that any of those modifications could be applied in a practical way to the creatures themselves, once we complete the containment unit and capture one? It would be wonderful to know if we could apply some sort of analgesic or sedative to ease any discomfort."

_Fascinating. Already he thinks of how the modifications could be used to benefit other living beings. _Leatherhead shook his head fondly as Honeycutt began to detail the possibilities and the practicalities of his modifications.

The discussion went on for nearly an hour before they rose to begin anew on the containment unit. Both Leatherhead and Professor Honeycutt kept a surreptitious eye on their friend, and were pleased to note that he seemed quite able now. _So it was just fatigue from a cold after all.  
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Of course, as far as Splinter was concerned, being aware that his sons all hated the chores of cleaning the bathroom, dojo and kitchen meant that they were also quite useful as a punishment. And this resulted in the rat also being in the habit of assigning those chores for misbehaviour - particularly cleaning the dojo. And disrupting a meditation session _definitely_ counted as a serious breach of etiquette in Splinter's opinion.

And so it was that a few days later, Donatello found himself tasked with cleaning the dojo as well. For a month. Kneeling on the floor with scrubbing brush in hand, his cheeks still burned with embarrassment as he recalled this morning's session.

_The katas themselves hadn't been too bad. There was something comforting in the repetitive movement that he didn't have to think about too hard – he could focus his concentration on keeping the movements fluid. Then they had been sparring in pairs as Splinter watched. Which was where things had started to go wrong. Not that he'd been doing very well in practice sessions lately, but today was definitely the worst. _

"_Donatello, do not let your guard down!" Leo had won that bout with ease, which was little surprise given that he had always been the most skilled of them all, and had come back from Japan even more disciplined than before. It was never a surprise to lose to Leo – but the ease with which he had done so stung Don's pride. Had he really become so slow?_

"_Donatello, keep your attention focussed on your opponent!" He'd also lost his bout with Mikey – he'd been positive that he'd been blocking correctly, but the nunchaku sailed right past his bo staff to land a strike. He'd miscalculated the angle and timing badly – not just on one strike, but several. His younger brother had also had him down on the mats in a depressingly short amount of time._

"_Donatello, place more force into your strikes! Do not hold back!" He simply couldn't bring himself to admit to his sensei or to his brothers that he hadn't been holding back. It seemed that not only had he gotten slower, but weaker. Clearly he needed extra practice, but when was he ever going to get time to do that? There was already far too much to do! _

"_Well done, Raphael. Donatello, you should not have been unprepared. I have taught you how to block such a counterstrike!" _Tell me about it_, Donatello thought grimly. A kick in the stomach from Raph wasn't a lot of fun at any time, and with his stomach the way it had been, it had taken all he had not to yell out in pain. Of course, excuses like that wouldn't do much good on a battlefield – slow or careless got you dead. That was all there was to it. _

_And then, finally, the meditation session. Donatello had been relieved to sit, to calm his churning mind and aching body. His stomach still burned and he reminded himself to take some aspirin and suck it up. After all, Leatherhead had sent him some data on the mutant outbreak that he badly needed to collate alongside his own collected data, and then there were more devices for subduing and restraining the creatures to be made, as well as the existing ones to be repaired. And the pipes in April's shop had broken, and he'd promised to repair them, but that wasn't so hard, and it was so nice just to rest for a moment… _

_THWACK!_

"_Ouch!" Yelping in pain, rubbing his stinging scalp, he sat straight up – and looked right up into the gaze of a very angry sensei holding a walking stick. _

Finishing the dojo floor, he sighed as he sat back. He still couldn't believe that he'd fallen asleep in the middle of meditation! He'd received a short but humiliating lecture about staying up too late 'playing' on the computer and allowing his hobby to encroach onto his training, alongside stares of disbelief from Leo and poorly muffled sniggers from Raph and Mikey. _Thanks a lot, guys,_ he thought sourly as he began to mop the now-clean floor dry. Lucky for them that he'd already fixed Leo's Shell Cell, Mikey's Nintendo and Raph's Shell Cycle, because frankly he didn't have the time for that right now.

Straightening up the dojo mats, Donatello began one last check to make sure the floor was dry and the room was perfect before heaving the bucket of dirty water up and dragging it over to the bathroom. Master Splinter would be checking on his work, as he well knew, and the rat had a nasty habit of making you do the entire thing again from the start if he wasn't satisfied with the results. However, he was fairly certain that this would pass even his irritated sensei's standards.

Dumping the dirty water out, he sighed. Rubbing his aching muscles, he wished he wasn't so tired. It was ridiculous. He was getting plenty of sleep already, after all. He'd slept for – how many hours last night? He frowned as he realised he couldn't really remember. But surely it couldn't be enough to cause him to doze off during meditation! _It was my own fault for letting my attention wander. Careless can get you dead – or worse, a month of dojo cleaning. _

After getting a grudging clearance from Splinter on an adequate cleaning job, he slipped into the kitchen for some more aspirin, then headed for his lab, booting up his computer and bringing up the blueprints for the improved tranquiliser gun. Rubbing at his eyes, he squinted at the screen. _I really hope this is just another part of being sick. If my eyes are going bad, there's no way I can get any sort of correctional lenses.  
_

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Reviews are loved.


	5. Big Brother And Father Are Watching

Author's Notes: No, I didn't forget Leo in all of this. Here he is, with some bonus Splinter.

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_And – there. That's the main frame of the tranquiliser gun strengthened, so that's the first part done… _Shutting off the welder and placing it carefully next to the gun, Don flipped up the protective mask and wiped his forehead. "Man, it sure is hot," he muttered, glancing at the air-conditioner he'd installed in his work area to keep it cool for all the machinery. _I wonder if there's something wrong with it – I'll have to get back to it soon. After I'm finished, whenever that is._

"Don, exactly how cold have you set the thermostat to that thing? It's freezing in here!" Leo was standing in the doorway.

Don blinked. _He's cold? But it's so hot in here. I hope he isn't coming down with something! _"You think so? I don't feel cold at all." _The pins and needles are getting worse than usual, but I'm definitely not cold. _

"You've probably gotten used to it, since you spend so much time here." Leo seemed as though he was about to continue and say that some of that time might be better spent in the dojo, but he apparently thought better of it. "Here, I brought you a soda. I saw you working and I thought maybe I could give you a hand?"

_Oh shell, no!_ Don knew that his brother meant well, but Leo had an all-too-memorable history of coming out second-best with even the simplest of machines. Don had a theory that it was because his brother unconsciously viewed most inanimate objects as potential targets for training and thus exerted far more force on them than was desirable. Besides, spending any time with Leo would undoubtedly lead to 'A Brotherly Talk' about his pathetic performance in the dojo recently. "Um, no, that's okay, Leo. Thanks for the offer though. Look – I don't really feel like a soda at the moment. If you really wanted to do me a favour, you might grab me some more coffee and a few aspirin?"

Leo blinked. "Aspirin? But you had some already, didn't you? At breakfast?"

Don blinked. "Did I?" _At breakfast, he said – maybe I did, but I don't remember. I could have sworn I took some just a few minutes ago, not at breakfast. I sure don't feel any better, either way. _Rubbing his leg, he sighed. "You're probably right – I just forgot."

"You don't usually 'just forget' things, Don." Leo's face shifted into concerned-big-brother mode. "Are you still feeling sick? Or is it your leg? Is that why today's morning practice was so…"

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'lousy', Leo," Don said wryly. _Should have known I couldn't escape The Brotherly Talk. _"And yeah – I just can't seem to shake this bug. It's no big deal though."

Leo's face now showed sympathy. "Why didn't you tell Sensei you weren't feeling well? I'm sure he would have been more lenient on you if you had."

"I know that, Leo." Don turned to face his brother. "But that isn't the point. Are those mutant bugs going to be 'lenient' just because I have a headache? Can I just say to the Purple Dragons, 'Oh, excuse me, but I'm not feeling that great right now, mind going easy on me tonight?' It just doesn't work that way, Leo. We've all fought while we've been sick or hurt before; this is no different. Besides, it's just some annoying virus. It'll go away sooner or later. I just have to put up with it. And I'm not going to make an excuse to Sensei for something so unimportant. The exercise is probably just going to help me get better anyway – speed up my metabolism and so forth."

Leo looked unconvinced. "Well, if you're sure…"

"I'm sure. Honest." _Maybe some sort of compromise to make him feel better…_ "Look, I could probably do with something to eat about now, but I don't feel like anything too heavy... I don't suppose you could spare one of your protein bars, could you?" Don really, really loathed the protein bars – they were so sickly-sweet and far too chewy – but he knew that eating one would make Leo happy.

True to his prediction, Leo immediately brightened. He'd been heckling all of them to eat the protein bars ever since he'd discovered a taste for them. "Sure, Don. I'll get you one right away. It'll be good for you, get some nutrients into your system. That'll definitely help cure you." Newly enthused, Leo headed off in the direction of the kitchen.

"Don't forget the coffee!" Don called to his brother's shell. He wasn't so worried about Leo forgetting the aspirin – he'd secreted a few spare bottles away in his lab so that he wouldn't disturb anyone by constantly going to the kitchen for it. _Now that I think about it…_

"It seems I owe you not only an apology, but also thanks, my son."

Startled, Don pulled his hand back from the shelf where the bottles were kept and turned to the door once more, where his father had appeared, looking at him with a strange expression. Almost – sad? "Master Splinter? I – I'm really really sorry about meditation, I can't believe that happened, I swear it'll never happen again - "

Splinter held up a single hand. "It is all right, Donatello. It is I who must apologise to you. You see, I had believed that you were staying up late on the computer for purely recreational reasons, and that had been the cause of your lack of focus in lessons as of late, as well as the, ah, 'incident' during meditation. I was angry at your seeming lack of discipline and respect for the art of ninjutsu. But now I see that in truth, you were trying your best to be as disciplined as possible and fulfill my expectations of you, despite your condition."

Don felt uncomfortable. Splinter apologising for anything simply felt very wrong, on the basis that their father was almost never wrong. "No, Sensei, Leo was right, I should have said something. That's my responsibility, not yours. I just didn't want to worry you, that's why I didn't say anything. I mean, it's just a virus, and even if it **were** something worse, falling asleep was just –"

"Part of a larger issue which I should have spoken to you about before things reached such a stage. Please forgive this old rat for assuming the worst of you rather than the best – and for making assumptions at all, rather than asking for reasons. The punishment of cleaning the dojo is lifted. And please, do take the appropriate measures to heal yourself. Rest and nourish your body so that you can heal."

"I am, Sensei," Don promised. _It's the truth. I'm resting when I can and eating what I can manage to stomach, and taking aspirin to stop things getting any worse. I'm not lying. _"I promise. It's just that there's so much that needs to be done, and it just can't be put off right now. Not with these mutant bugs around. From the reports Leatherhead is sending in, it's getting worse almost by the day. I can't rest until I know for sure that the security systems are perfect and the equipment we're using is as good as I can possibly make it."

Splinter paused. Obviously he was debating between his own fatherly concern, and Don's all-too-true statements of fact. Finally he conceded, "Very well, my son. I have faith in your judgement in these matters, and I trust that you will place taking care of yourself in as high a priority as taking care of mere objects. You will talk to me if you feel any need to reduce your workload, and I will ensure the responsibilities are shared among us and the equipment meets the standard you require."

"Yes, Master Splinter. But I'm fine, really." _I have to be. Because I love my family but even so, the only way I'll let ANY of them get their hands on the equipment in my lab is over my cold dead body!_

"Don, sorry for the wait, the coffee maker took ages and – oh, sorry Master Splinter!" Leo immediately stopped when he saw his sensei talking with his brother, unwilling to interrupt the two of them.

"No, it is perfectly all right, Leonardo. Your brother and I are finished talking. Thank you for being so considerate as to watch over him." Don couldn't help but feel a little needled. _I don't need watching over! I'm not some irresponsible kid! I just need some time. More hours in the day. That would be nice._

"Oh, it was nothing, Sensei. I'm glad to help." And Leo handed over the protein bar and the coffee. _He forgot the aspirin. Well, I can take some more later._

"Thanks, Leo." And he was sincere about it – he was really, really glad to have his watchful, protective big brother back. Gratefully swallowing a mouthful of coffee, he was surprised when Leo's face took on a look of guilty discomfort.

"Oh, um… Don? About the coffee maker? Well, I did get it to work, but now it isn't, and I'm not sure exactly what happened to it…"

Sigh. _Forget child-proof – I need to make every kitchen appliance Leo-proof. Not to mention making all our vehicles Raph-proof, AND making the entertainment unit Mikey-proof. _"It's okay, Leo. I'll be there in just a moment, okay? I just need to shut off the power here." After all, the coffee maker was important, too. Without coffee, he wouldn't be able to get everything else done, so he may as well get it fixed quickly.

Nodding, Leo left, still looking embarrassed. Splinter also left, kindly allowing his son some privacy now that they had worked out these issues. _Once these mutated creatures are no longer a threat, I will have to have a word with Donatello and suggest that he educate his brothers on simple aspects of repair and maintanance. There is no reason he cannot teach his brothers – and myself, for that matter - how to manage such things and give himself some time for his own needs. Especially when he pushes himself in this manner even when unwell. That is not acceptable. Yes, as soon as there is an opportunity, I will intervene on his behalf._ Nodding in satisfaction at his decision, Splinter left to meditate and enjoy a small measure of peace.

Don sighed and reached for the hidden aspirin bottle once more, tipping a generous amount into his hand and downing them with the last of the coffee Leo had brought. This day was not improving. _And there goes my ShellCell – what now?_

"Oh, hi Casey. Yes, I'll get Raph, just a moment. Is it an emergency? …Oh, good news? Great! We could do with a little of that…"

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Author's Notes: One does wonder how Don gets hold of all this aspirin. My theory goes like this...

Mikey: Hey, does anyone know who wrote aspirin on the shopping list four times?  
Raph: It ain't me.  
Leo: Not me.  
Splinter: Nor I. It must be a typographical error.  
Mikey: Oh well - Don's probably stocking up our infirmary again. No biggie.

... Just a thought, though.


	6. Sweet And Sour

Author's notes: I really can't thank everyone enough for all the lovely feedback. I appreciate it a lot more than you can imagine. It helps me try and get this story done as well as I can.

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Celebrating successes was one of the most firmly rooted of their family traditions, dating all the way back past their first ninjutsu training to their first steps, their first words, and even (much to their horror whenever Splinter felt nostalgic and wished to tell the story) their first potty-training. So when Casey had called to brag about a triple success, a party was instantly organised for the weekend. April's shop had turned in an exceptional profit that month; Casey had recently taken and passed his First Aid course; and Angel had received an A on her latest Science test thanks to some late night study (cleverly disguised as several frantic internet conversations with Don, but she wasn't telling her grandmother THAT.)

Mikey had declared these events worthy of a party before Raph had even finished telling him, and even Leo and Splinter had seemed pleased at having a legitimate excuse to have a day set aside for sharing a table with friends rather than dimly-lit battles. Not that Don himself wasn't pleased, of course – April had worked very hard to make her father's shop a success, and Casey had seen enough of the Turtles struggling to overcome their injuries after a fight to take good health or good luck for granted any more. As for Angel, in the end it had been her own hard work that had netted her the high grade, and Don was pleased for her. _I'm just glad I was able to help a bit. _

Michaelangelo's declaration that this was the perfect occasion for a party was met with no argument whatsoever – even Splinter seemed to think that some indulgence was in order. Especially after so many weeks of what Raph had sarcastically begun to refer to as being "Bug Hunters" – which invariably met with a badly-accented "Crikey!" from Mikey. Even Leo had joined in the joke by suggesting the alternative name of "Bug Whisperers". Don privately preferred "Bug Busters", but dared not start Mikey on a "Who ya gonna call?" running gag.

As the best cook of all of them, Mikey had instantly taken charge of the edibles side of the celebration, and had happily planned a menu with indulgence rather than health in mind. Come Saturday, the youngest Turtle was in the kitchen busily assembling side dishes, snacks, and several pans of his masterpiece recipe – a four-cheese lasagne stuffed to the brim with various meats, vegetables, and a rich sauce overflowing with herbs. It was a universal favourite dish – even Master Splinter, who usually preferred lighter, more Japanese meals to heavier Western-style ones, rarely turned down a helping of his son's Italian creation. Likewise, Mikey's homemade triple-chocolate pudding was an enormous hit, and one that was reserved for extra-special occasions. And Splinter had suggested that 'perhaps' the special dessert would be 'appreciated by our guests' – not that Mikey had needed encouraging. The opportunities for him to create his masterpieces were rare, and he never let a single one slide by. The anniversary of the Battle Nexus Championship had been… memorable, to say the least.

Don, however, was a little apprehensive. _I just hope nobody notices if I don't eat much – my mouth loves Mikey's cooking, but right now my stomach hates it… well, right now my stomach hates everything._ He sighed and picked up his toolkit, carting it across the Lair, intending to finally put it away for just a few hours.

"Hey, Don?" Blinking, he turned his attention to the grinning face of Angel in front of him. "Thanks again for the help. I wouldn't've passed without you, that's for sure."And she held out her fist expectantly.

Don stared at her blankly. _Why's she doing that? What does she want me to do?_ It wasn't until Angel gently bumped her fist against his free hand that he understood. _Oh, of course!_ Sheepishly, he finished the victory ritual along with her. "Um, sorry about that. Zoned out for a moment there. And no, you did the work yourself – I just helped you find the information you needed."

"And you checked my work! And helped me with a bunch of memory tricks to remember all of that stuff. Hey, you feeling all right? You look a bit tired, you know?"

"I'm fine, Angel, honest." _I may as well make "I'm fine" my new mantra – I seem to say it enough lately._ "Just a bit of a cold or something, you know how it is. Right when you're busiest…"

"Oh, I hear you." Angel rolled her eyes. "I never seem to get sick till I get a load of homework or a big test or my grandmother needs some major cleaning done, then all of a sudden I feel like something the dog wouldn't even bother dragging in. I wonder if it's that pscyho-whatever-it's-called? You know, when the idea makes you actually feel like crap?

"You mean psychosomatic?

"Yeah, that. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's not faked, no matter what Gran says." She scowled at that.

Don squeezed her shoulder sympathetically, the tools clanking softly in the kit. "I know you're not a faker. Sometimes I think that people like you and I have immune systems which are programmed with Murphy's Law."

Angel laughed. "Wonder if that'll pass as a reason for a medical exemption?"

Don raised a single eye ridge Spock-style, something which always seemed to amuse Angel to no end. "You wish."

Mikey stuck his head out of the kitchen. "Donnie, the only thing wrong with your immune system is that you make it do way too much, right along with the rest of you. Too much work is seriously bad for you."

Raph snorted. "So that explains your perfect health, Mikey. I always wondered."

Mikey sputtered indignantly while everyone chuckled. "Hey, no fair!" He stuck his tongue out in what for Mikey was actually quite a reserved display. "I'll have you know I'm very very busy in here making YOUR food. Hey Don, can I have a word with you in here?"

"Sure." He didn't even bother putting the toolkit down. _I'm going to need this, I just know it._

As it turned out, he was quite right.

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Mikey was flitting around the kitchen, dashing from one point to another and generally looking very busy and worried. "Look, bro, I'm really sorry… but I can't get the oven working. I need it to pre-heat before I put the lasagne in, but it just won't start at all. I've tried everything I can think of. I really hate to ask you – I'm the one supposed to be doing all the work today – but there's **nothing** I can do without the oven!" He really did look genuinely contrite, and Don couldn't help but feel bad for him. He'd been in the kitchen for hours this morning preparing the meal, and the piles of dirty pans and utensils everywhere lay as proof of him creating the lasagne sauce from scratch, which Mikey always firmly declared was the only way to get the pasta dish to taste just right.

"It's no problem, Mikey. Give me some space to work and I'll get it going again, I promise," Don assured him, though inside he wasn't quite so sure. _That thing is pretty old, and if I need parts I could be sunk…_

"Dude, you're the best! Seriously." Mikey looked hugely relieved. "I'll just take some of the snacks out now – I was going to anyway before I realised the over was _kaputt_ and that I'd have to ask you to ka-put it back together again…" Don groaned at his brother's bad joke, as Mikey pretended to be hurt. _This has to be our oldest game. I wonder if I'm the only one who realises that he makes his jokes bad on purpose?_

Opening the oven, he did a quick visual check for anything wrong. _Whoa, it's sparkling clean. Mikey's really taking this seriously._ Setting his tool bag down on the floor, he began to rifle through it before pulling out a flashlight.

"Okay then, I'll go pass out some nibblies before our guests all pass out from hunger. Some chocolate-chip cookies to remind them of what's coming for dessert. You got it under control, Don?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Go, go," Don waved him off absently. _Well, it it's either a problem with the oven itself, or the power just isn't getting through – maybe something wrong with the power point? _Bending down, he tried to angle the flashlight towards the power point. _Nope, still can't see. I'll have to shift the oven itself a bit. Damn._ He stood up and promptly found himself staggering backwards. Blindly, he grabbed onto the kitchen counter for support, chest heaving, _whoa, I stood up too fast, I'll be fine, just dizzy, get some aspirin. _Turning towards the cupboard where the aspirin was, he pushed himself towards the counter near it in stumbling steps, catching himself and tugging at the door, fumbling for the aspirin bottle and wrestling it open through pure stubbornness and tipping several into his hand, swallowing them dry. It only made things worse, and he staggered a couple of steps before his body rebelled against him, one hand catching hold of the table as he fell to his knees and vomited, every retch and heave a new searing, acid pain. _Oh no, I_ _have to fix the mess before I ruin the party… _Staring down, he was vaguely surprised at the sight of blood, swirling ominously in the bile. _I should really be more worried about that, shouldn't I?_ The smell hit him and instantly doubled him over once more, bringing up yet more blood and bile, redder this time and Donnie was sure that his stomach and throat had been burned raw, it hurt so much.

_Clink, clink, clatter_. White specks scattered along Don's vision as he stared at the floor, and he vaguely realised that the open aspirin bottle had landed on the floor, spilling the tablets all over the place, sliding into the mess in front of him to join those he'd just brought straight back up. _Have to clean it, have to fix it… _Shakily, he let go of the table, and found himself pitching forward, landing facefirst in the bloody, acidic mess, and maybe letting go had been a really bad idea, because the smell was really bad, but that was okay because it was getting fainter anyway…

"Donnie, what's the noise in – DONNIE!"

_Oh shell, I didn't fix it._ And someone was calling his name, shaking him, yelling for help, but he just couldn't seem to move, and then everything was quiet and still, so maybe he'd finally fixed everything now?

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Author's notes: Um, yeah. Review?


	7. Crashing The Party

Author's Notes: The sky is blue. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. I do not own the TMNT. And existing on coffee and aspirin and not enough sleep is very very bad for you. But you all knew those things already, right? Good. On with the story!

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Leonardo stared in horror at the image that greeted him as he reached the kitchen – his quiet little brother lying on the floor unconscious, facedown in a pool of bloody vomit. White pills were scattered all over the floor, the empty bottle still rolling gently near Donnie's hand – and found that he couldn't move, even as his father and brothers pushed past him. The sight of his always-reliable brother, the one he'd never really had to worry much about, slumped unresponsive and covered in such filth as he was gently turned over by careful hands froze the blood in his veins. He couldn't move. _I'm going to fail them all again. They need me, Donnie needs me, and I can't do anything. This can't happen again!_

_**Foolish Kumquat! **_The voice of the Ancient One seemed to echo in his head. _**Three are already surrounding him, more is too much. Look, assess, lead. Do what is useful, not lament what you did not do!**_

_Of course._ Leo quickly analyzed the scene with the practiced speed of a ninja. Don on the floor, unconscious. Blood-stained vomit smeared all over Donnie's cheek and plastron like blasphemy, a cruel insult. Aspirin on the floor, aspirin in the vomit…

"Leo! Snap out of it!" Raphael's voice broke through his thoughts. "What're you doing standing around for?"

"I'm going to call Leatherhead," Leo heard himself say calmly. "Don might need more help than we can give him." With that, he reached for his Shell Cell – only to find it absent. _Oh yeah, Donnie took it this morning, said he wanted to fix it. I wonder why – he only just fixed it the other day, didn't he?_

"Find out if it's safe to move him somewhere better, okay?" Mikey asked in a voice that shook just a little, just a little.

Splinter nodded, his eyes never leaving his fallen son. "Please inform Leatherhead that Donatello has thrown up blood, has a very high fever and was apparently trying to take aspirin for these symptoms."

Leonardo raced towards Don's work area, passing by the three humans on his way. "Yo, Leo, what's the rush? What's all the ruckus about? Dinner get burned or somethin'?" Casey's voice reached him even as he leaped up to the second level.

"Don's sick. Really sick." He called back curtly, not bothering to cushion his words. He snatched up his Shell Cell – _No, this is Donnie's, but that doesn't matter, he makes them, he repairs them, they're all his –_ and quickly punched in Leatherhead's comm number, silently thanking everything he believed in that his brother's friendship with the crocodile meant that he had Leatherhead on speed-dial.

Leatherhead's pleasant educated tones came over the link quickly, to Leo's great relief. "Ah, Donatello, it is good to hear from you again so soon-"

"Leatherhead, this is Leo," he interrupted quickly, already sprinting back to the kitchen where his brothers and father waited. "Donnie is sick, really sick, but we don't know what. We just found him passed out in the kitchen covered in bloodied vomit." He heard Leatherhead's soft murmur of shock before he continued quickly, "Sensei says he has a very high fever too, and he's had the flu or something for a while – he's been taking aspirin for it but it wouldn't go away, but we didn't think it was bad or anything – and he must have felt bad just before he passed out because there's aspirin spilled all over the floor –" _Calm down, you fool! They all need you focussed!_

"Aspirin?" Leatherhead's voice took on a much sharper tone. "Did you say aspirin? How much has he taken? How long has he been taking it? How often? What dosages?"

"I… I don't know." Leonardo was bewildered. "Um, Leatherhead wants to know how much aspirin he's taken."

Mikey blinked. "What, just now? He puked it all back up!"

"Not just now – ever since he got sick."

Blank stares met each other. "Uh…"

Leo sighed. "No, sorry, Leatherhead - none of us have any idea right now. Is it that important?"

"I fear it may be much more so than you realise," came the grim response. "I will be there as soon as possible, as will Professor Honeycutt, and we will provide what meager assistance we can. In the meantime, clean him up and keep him stable."

_Hardly meager_, Leonardo thought. With Donatello no longer in any condition to tend to the unique medical needs of mutant turtles and rats, Leatherhead was their best bet. "Keep him comfortable and warm, and clean, do you understand?" Leatherhead's instructions continued while in the background, Leo could hear shuffling as things were moved about and the Professor mumbling "Oh my, oh my…"

"Understood. Leonardo out."

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Moving with a speed that many would not have credited him for given his size, Leatherhead grabbed hold of the bag he had intended to take to the Turtles' home next time he visited them. It was currently filled with electronic equipment and disks filled with valuable data carefully stored for analysis. Opening it, he dumped the contents hastily on a desk, not bothering to pick up the items that clattered to the floor. Instead he hurried to his laboratory, gathering everything that could possibly have a medical or diagnostic application, as well as his own rather minimal first-aid supplies. The Turtles tended to be much better equipped in this area than he, since Donatello was always so adamant regarding his family having adequate medical supplies. Given their constantly embattled state, this was a wise precaution.

_Donatello, my friend – what has happened? This is no simple illness, as I had first believed. Or if it is, it has progressed much further than I would have thought possible. And aspirin? It is natural to take medication for an illness, but if he has been taking it for 'a while', then things could be much worse – and I did not notice!_ Quickly he reviewed his most recent interactions with his friend. _Fatigue. Confusion. Difficulty with his eyesight and fine motor control. Refusing food when it was offered. His leg showed signs of excess fluid. And coffee – always coffee, and always so much! If he has been taking large doses of aspirin alongside this for an unknown time…_

His thoughts were interrupted when the slender robotic arm of Professor Honeycutt slipped into his vision and handed him – "This? You believe this will be necessary?" He stared at the syringe with the long, long needle, the thin metal shining like a blade even within its protective plastic sheath.

The Fugitoid seemed incredibly uncomfortable. "Surely not, but… I believe it may be best to be prepared. It was designed and created specifically for the biology of the Turtles, and for medical emergencies, after all."

A low growl of assent was Leatherhead's only answer as he shoved the syringe into his pocket, unwilling to risk the fragile implement breaking inside the hastily-gathered medical kit. Too much time has been wasted already. "We must hurry!"

The pair of them sprinted down the sewer systems in silence, each pondering what they could not bear to speak aloud.

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Leonardo turned to his brothers. "Leatherhead and Professor Honeycutt are on their way right now. He says to get him clean and move him somewhere warm and comfortable." An ugly silence followed, where the words unspoken hung in the air like lead weights. If Leatherhead felt that Professor Honeycutt was needed as well, and so very urgently…

Splinter nodded curtly, breaking the spell. "Quickly, to the infirmary." Shaken, Raphael and Michaelangelo quickly obeyed him, Raph holding his brother's shoulders while Mikey took his legs. Lifting Don in one smooth movement, they carried him gently out of the kitchen and towards the infirmary. Casey and Angel were already offering to run to a pharmacy to get first aid supplies, while April was busy helping Leo prepare the infirmary with hot water, blankets, pillows and plenty of light for Leatherhead to see by.

They had made it to the large space in the centre of their home when Splinter noticed Donatello's head twitch to the side. _Is he awakening?_ "Donatello? My son, can you hear me?" There was no reply, but the twitch repeated itself, and again, becoming stronger and more pronounced with each repetition. Soon the jerking muscles were lifting up his shoulders with the force of their constant contractions, lifting his arms out of Raphael's control… all in a matter of seconds.

"Shell!" Raphael cursed as he tried to keep a grip on his younger brother's shoulders.

"Put 'im down before ya drop 'im!" Mister Jones' voice rang in Splinter's ears with urgency and an uncharacteristic authority, and his two sons were quick to obey. It was fortunate that they did, for just at that moment Donatello's body seemed to turn on itself, spasming and thrashing with such violence that had Raphael not quickly used his hands as a makeshift cradle, his brother's head would surely have met the ground with horrifying force. Meanwhile, Michaelangelo found himself having to grip his brother's ankles under his arms like his nunchaku in a battle to control the flailing limbs.

"Yo, some HELP here, maybe?" Raphael's bellow shook them all out of their shock and they all converged on the fallen turtle, Leo and April hurrying out of the infirmary towards them – only for everyone to stop, stymied. _Now what?_

It was Casey of all people who broke the stalemate. "April! You take Raph's place and get yer hands under his head. Make sure he don't bite his tongue. Leo, you get up near Raph – don't try ta hold him, just stay near in case he hurts himself. Splinter, and me help Mikey do the same with his legs. Angel, go get a pillow or cushion for his head so April don't get hurt." _Man, I am gonna tell everyone I know to take First Aid the first chance I get…_ Quickly shifting round to obey, they managed to control the seizing limbs while April carefully cradled Donnie's head in her hands, lifting just enough to slide Angel's hastily-grabbed cushion underneath. They stared at one another with each gurgling, fluid-filled breath as they waited for Leatherhead.

"Wish he'd quit breathing like that – whoa!" Casey's mutter turned into a shout of shock as every muscle in Donatello's body suddenly tightened far beyond what seemed possible, his back arching as far as his shell would permit, his entire frame locked for what seemed like an eternity before a release that came every bit as suddenly as the seizure, and Donatello collapsed limply back into their arms.

Not conscious.

Not moving.

Not breathing.

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Author's Notes: I have a completely valid reason for ending this chapter there. Honest.  
…Yeah, okay, it's to build dramatic tension. You caught me out.


	8. Physician, Heal Thy Family

Author's Notes: Everything I know about defibrillators and epinephrine comes from the Wikipedia. I tried to be as realistic as I could without sacrificing the drama of the situation. Hope I don't disappoint anyone. If I do – review! I need to know these things!

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There was a moment in the Lair when time itself seemed to have stopped. Nobody moved, spoke, or even took a breath – they were too busy simply staring in horror at the nightmare in front of them.

_That's what this is,_ Leonardo thought wildly,_ just some nightmare, I'll wake up soon to do my katas and Don will be tapping away on the computer like always and it'll all be fine…_

"Don?" Mikey's voice trembled along the pause like a piece of litter blowing across a path. "Don, get up. This isn't funny, bro. I know you're sick, but this is going too far, now get up!" His voice rose until he was almost shouting, and without warning he lunged at Don's shoulders, grabbing them and shaking for all he was worth. "WAKE UP! You're scaring us, okay? It isn't funny, it's sick, now get up!"

"Michaelangelo, stop!" Jarred into action at seeing his youngest son shake Donatello so roughly, Splinter surged forward in turn and pulled his son away with a strength born of years of ninjutsu and hardship and a parent's fear. "Stop this at once!"

"We gotta do CPR!" Casey shouted. "Angel, go grab a pillow or something. April, get those blankets. Leo, you do the heart massage, I ain't strong enough to push against that shell plating you guys have. Raph, you breathe for him. I'll time it." He glanced over at Splinter, who was desperately dividing his attention between Don and Mikey, who seemed on the verge of hysterics.

And he'd thought he was so cool, earning his First Aid certificate, but nothing in the course had prepared him for this – for seeing a friend collapse in front of his eyes, for trying to figure out how to deal with other friends who were freaking out or trying to be useful, _and I don't even know if you CAN do CPR on a turtle with the shell plating, what if Leo can't push it enough either?_

"One, two, three, four, and breathe!" But there wasn't time to be thinking like that, "One, two, three, four and breathe," there was only counting Leo pushing and telling Raph to breathe and the whistling sound of air going down into lungs that just weren't interested in working anymore, thanks anyway. "One, two, three, four and breathe." Keep going. Keep going. _How long has it been now? I ain't wearing my watch! Four minutes till brain cells start dying, that's the limit. But that's humans, not turtles. Is that better or worse? Time's still running out…_ "Again – one, two, three, four, and breathe. And one, two, three, four and breathe. Breathe. Dammit, Donnie, BREATHE, why won'tcha?! C'mon, breathe, damn you! You're no quitter, Don. Now breathe!"

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Turning a corner and espying the entrance to the Turtles' domicile, Leatherhead inwardly sighed in relief when he heard words that chilled him to the very marrow.

"**C'mon, breathe, damn you! You're no quitter, Don. Now breathe!"**

Until those words reached his ears, he could not have thought himself capable of running faster, yet indeed he was. _Too late – NO! I will not permit it!_

Bursting into their home with no regard to courtesy, he immediately assessed the situation as best he could on sight. With the aid of their human friend Casey Jones, Leonardo was desperately performing compressions on Donatello's blood-stained plastron, while Raphael was performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. However, the rigidity of Donatello's plastron was not permitting adequate flexibility to achieve CPR. _And were I to perform the maneuver, I would no doubt end up causing more harm than good._

"Leatherhead!" Splinter's voice broke the white noise that had begun to settle into his chest, and he glanced over to see the rat holding Michaelangelo. "Please, help my son! Please! He is-"

"I can see." And indeed, he could see – much more clearly than he wished. He could see a family struggling and fighting to revive a brother and son, while three friends stood by helplessly yet hungering to render aid. "Everyone move away from him, now!" he ordered more harshly than intended. Ms O'Neill and Mister Jones moved quickly at his words, shielding the young girl. _A wise decision – youth should not be faced with such a scene unless unavoidable. It is unfortunate enough that Donatello's brother's must witness it._ "Professor, your assisstance!"

"Yes, indeed." The Fugitoid had clearly also assessed the situation immediately, and come to a similar conclusion. "It seems that despite our hopes, my recent modifications made will be necessary after all." He turned to Splinter. "Neither Leatherhead nor myself can be certain this will work – I have not ever used this technique before, though I understand it is common medical practice in your world –"

"Anything." Only one word, but it was spoken with such swift finality that every soul there may as well have shouted it aloud.

"Very well," Professor Honeycutt responded, his hands already twisting and folding awkwardly. The instant the final circuit clicked into place, he was moving, placing one hand on Donatello's plastron and the other on his side, between the two 'halves' of his shell. Leatherhead checked quickly to ensure that nobody was in contact then nodded. An ominous _**shreeee**_ sound started from the robot, ascending painfully in pitch before ending in a _**tzip!**_ as the Professor sent a sharp jolt of electricity directly towards his friend's still heart.

Apart from a small, almost unnoticeable contraction of superficial muscles, there was no response from Donatello. Leatherhead frowned as he searched in vain for a pulse. _Though not as refined as a hospital-based defibrillator, ours should still be similarly effective. The defibrillation modification is biphasic. The success rate on the first shock for such devices is over ninety percent in human hospitals._ "Again, Professor."

"Understood." _**Shreeeeeee-TZIP!**_ Once more there was no response from the turtle, much to Leatherhead's despair. _No…not him. This world cannot afford to lose a soul such as Donatello. There are already far too few who would choose to create and repair rather than destroy._ "Increase the amperage and repeat, Professor."

_**Shreeeeeee-TZIP!**_ Feel for a pulse. Move clear.

_**Shreeeeeee-TZIP!**_ Feel for a pulse. Move clear.

"Leatherhead!" The Professor spoke urgently. "This method is not working! We must use the epinephrine, my friend!" _It is Donatello's last hope,_ the Fugitoid thought despairingly, though he dared not voice the thought aloud.

Nodding silently, Leatherhead reached into his pocket. _To have to resort to this… but I have no choice._ Gazing upon the too-still form of his friend, he thought, _One more chance. I have only one chance to get this right…_

Seeing the syringe in the crocodile's hands, Professor Honeycutt swiftly moved, tilting Donatello's head backward and to the side. _Hardly the ideal position, but your biology and the situation rule out conventional methods, Donatello. I do pray this works, my friend, for my own efforts have failed you._

Leatherhead tapped the syringe, squirting out a thin stream of liquid to ensure a complete lack of air bubbles. Staring at the long, long needle, he prayed that it would be enough before taking a deep breath. Adjusting his arm and wrist to the angle he hurriedly calculated, he swiftly brought the needle flashing down in a parody of a death blow, watching it stabbing into the soft flesh just about the plastron, piercing and sliding down and _underneath_ the shell exterior, an blade filled with liquid adrenaline aimed directly at a silent heart.

The pulse that fluttered to life under Leatherhead's fingertips was perhaps the most wonderful sensation he had ever felt.

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Leatherhead had always maintained that he was a scientist rather than a physician. Professor Honeycutt also regarded himself likewise. Thus, it was somewhat ironic that they found themselves in the position of not only reviving Donatello and keeping him alive and stable, but also in the role of providing comfort and support to his shattered family. Splinter, who had been a tower of strength and wisdom during Leatherhead's own battle with his beastly nature, was in such a shaken state after seeing his son literally perish in front of him, even if only briefly, that he had to be led to a chair and firmly ordered to remain seated.

The others were in little better condition. Raphael had been pacing like a caged predator, fingering his weapons as if Donatello's illness were a creature of flesh to be fought and conquered. It had fallen to Casey Jones to deal with the hot-headed turtle – or at least, to keep him company and ensure that he did nothing foolish. _Another ironic choice for a counsellor in this crisis, but there is no doubting his ability to calm the savagery in Raphael's heart._

Leonardo was attempting to attend to his role as leader, with a stubbornness that told Leatherhead that the oldest Turtle was holding onto his control by a thread. Still, the fact that he could still remain somewhat calm was a relief, as Michaelangelo had been distressed to the point of needing a big brother's constant support and embrace. Truth be told, Leatherhead suspected that Leonardo needed to _be_ the big brother to Michaelangelo as much as the younger needed him.

April and the young girl – Angel, her name seemed to be – had taken on the role of material support, and were ferrying light foods and drink to everyone, all of which remained unconsumed. Only Splinter accepted the offer of tea, but no matter how many cups were brought, they slowly cooled untouched in the rat's hands.

Leatherhead suspected he himself was little better – he had cloistered himself in the infirmary with Donatello and felt compelled to check his friend's pulse and breathing at every opportunity. He and Professor Honeycutt had obtained blood and other samples, which were now undergoing testing in Donatello's own laboratory by the Fugitoid – the only one who could be relied upon to have steady hands in this situation.

"Ahem," the voice of the Professor interrupted him. "My friend, I believe I have found a piece of the puzzle which may go a long way towards explaining the current situation. It is possible the very thing that endangered Donatello's life also saved it."

Leatherhead felt his brow crease. "What do you mean, Professor?"

"Here." The Fugitoid handed him a sheaf of printouts. "Take a look at these. You may come to a different conclusion, but I am certain that I am right."

Staring at the evidence in front of his eyes, the molecular structure that mocked him from the pages, Leatherhead felt his blood boil slowly in his veins. _Donatello's suffering was HIS work? Him. Always him, uncaring of the misery he leaves in his wake. _

_I WILL make him pay._

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Author's Notes: Reviews are always helpful.


	9. So Much For The Smart One

Author's Notes: The chapter name is a quote from a character in the Good Genes arc. Cookies to anyone who recognises it!

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Leatherhead sighed as he observed the faces in front of him – all desperate for news, and specifically for good news. _If only I had any assurances of the sort to give. But I have none._ He cleared his throat. "Please bear in mind that while I may be acting as Donatello's physician in this case, I am certainly no medical expert, especially on his unique physiology. However, from all indications, we can reasonably deduce that Donatello developed a severe case of pulmonary edema, which in turn initiated cardiac arrest. The seizure may or may not be related – there is no current way to tell."

Dead silence greeted his pronouncement, until finally Casey Jones' voice punctured the silence. "Okay, I ain't no expert either, but I do know that people Don's age don't just collapse an' have a HEART ATTACK for no damn reason!" A sharp intake of breath echoed throughout the room as the forbidden words were finally voiced, but Leatherhead was secretly relieved. Now that the topic had been forced open for discussion, the wound could be cleaned out quickly, if not painlessly.

"Indeed, it is not 'no reason' – in point of fact, it appears that quite a multitude of factors have had a hand in Donatello's situation. Professor?"

"Yes." The Fugitoid took up the conversation. "When I was testing a blood sample from Donatello, I came across something most interesting. It was a foreign mutatory agent not of Utrom origin – the same mutatory agent that was introduced to the animal life via the falsified alien invasion some months prior."

"What, the mutant bugs?! You mean this is all BISHOP'S fault?" Raph snarled. _Finally, someone to hurt for this…_ Leatherhead felt his own muscles tense into battle readiness as his blood boiled once more at the mention of the hated name.

"Well, partially, yes. However, the most curious thing regarding the mutatory agent was that it had somehow been rendered inert. Ironically, what Donatello has actively been trying to search for in his waking hours – a solution to the mutation crisis – was lingering in his bloodstream all along."

"But wait…" Michaelangelo seemed to be thinking very hard. "So, the outbreak stuff didn't mutate Don, because he's already a mutant and the Utrom stuff in his body ruined all the chemicals. So instead it just made him really sick, is that it? And how'd it get IN his body to start with, anyway?"

_Hmm, not a bad hypothesis for Michaelangelo, who for all his good points is not particularly inclined towards the scientific fields._ "Not quite. The outbreak agent would have indeed mutated him a second time – quite probably with results as unstable and deadly as the poor creatures currently suffering from the mutation." He averted his eyes from their distressed, disbelieving faces. "He could have been infected a multitude of ways, but the most likely would be that some of the outbreak virus entered his system via an open wound. The Utrom mutagen could not have protected him from such a thing. However, it seems to have had somewhat of a delaying mechanism, so to speak. The interaction of the two differing types of mutagen likely caused Donatello to feel some ill effects, and he most likely took some aspirin to mitigate the symptoms, dismissing them as unimportant."

"But they were important." It was a statement rather a question from Ms. O'Neill, whose lips were pressed tightly together in a clear effort for calm and control. _She is using her inner scientist to keep the fear at bay. This is wise. I, too, need this distance to maintain any state of usefulness. _

"Quite so. Aspirin is a salicylate drug, and it seems that the outbreak mutagen is rendered ineffective in the presence of excess salicylate. Instead, it had the effect of concentrating the salicylate inside Donatello's body. This in turn led to a vicious cycle whereupon Donatello would take aspirin to relieve his symptoms, resulting in a stronger concentration of salicylate in his system, and would then take more aspirin again to combat the symptoms, which could have easily been mistaken for influenza. This eventually brought about a situation where his body was in a state of what is known as 'chronic aspirin toxicity', which among other things caused excess fluid to accumulate in his lungs – this is called pulmonary edema. And this is what caused his cardiopulmonary attack." Leatherhead paused, not wanting to deliver what could easily be the cruellest part of the diagnosis yet, but knowing full well that he had to.

"It is certain that fluid has also gathered elsewhere. For example, cerebral edema, whereupon excess fluid places pressure on the brain. This could have contributed to Donatello's seizure… and possibly caused damage. The period of time without adequate blood flow to the brain would also have increased the odds of such a result." The words were forced out like ground glass, and the horrified silence that followed proved they had torn at everyone present, embedded within their deepest belief and images of Donatello.

_No... Not my son!._

_No way! Not Don!_

_Not to him, not him!_

_Not Donnie!_

_Not our brother!_

_Not my baby bro…_

_No_

_No._

_No._

"It seems to have been somewhat of a 'house of cards' situation, so to speak," Professor Honeycutt finally spoke up. "Once Donatello's body could finally spare no more resources for the demands he was making upon it, the entire coping mechanism his system had put in place simply collapsed from the base."

"But, like, it's only ASPIRIN!" Mikey objected strongly. "They sell it over the counter! I mean, people take it all the time, and this never happens!"

"Not so. Aspirin toxicity and the resulting salicylate poisoning are not as common as they once were, but they are indeed still occuring. And I believe that by the time the effects had become noticable, Donatello had already lost the ability to accurately determine the dosage and frequency with which he was consuming the medicine, and was also unable to correctly judge or diagnose his own condition."

Ms O'Neill bit her lip as she nodded. "And aspirin can eat away at your stomach lining, especially if you're not eating. So the blood in the vomit is probably from an ulcer?"

Leatherhead nodded gratefully. "Correct. And I do not believe that Donatello has been ingesting adequate nourishment, which would have increased the damage, just as you say." A soft, pained murmur from Splinter reached his ears, almost inaudible. _Had I not been standing in such close proximity, I would not have heard him. A parent's suffering over an ill child is among the harshest._

"Okay, okay," Raphael interrupted, an frustrated look on his face. This was one opponent he couldn't protect his family from, and the knowledge grated on him, laughing at him from somewhere he couldn't reach. "So Don's taken too much aspirin and he's got an ulcer. We've got him breathing again and he sure as shell ain't gonna be taking any more aspirin from now on, so the question is, what do we do for him now?"

"That, Raphael, is an extremely good question." Everyone looked to Professor Honeycutt, whose soft voice had broken into the conversation. "Unfortunately, we are faced with the absence of an extremely good answer."

"What do you mean?" Leonardo's voice was as sharp as his swords, alarm he refused to show creeping into his gut. _I refuse to believe that. We didn't revive him just to lose him again! There's __**always**__ something – Don __**always**__ finds a way!_

"I mean that at this point there is no antidote for salicylate poisoning," the Professor spoke gently in a fruitless attempt to soften the harsh fact. "Were Donatello a human patient, he would have been hospitalised and placed on immediate hemodialysis to clean the toxins from his blood as much as possible. He would also be having his blood tested constantly for potassium levels, salicylate levels, electrolyte levels, respiratory alkalosis, metabolic acidosis… many, many things, each of which would require individual treatments, mostly through intravenous methods."

Leonardo glanced around at his brothers. "We have one of those IV poles – Don found it in an abandoned medical warehouse and kept it for our infirmary. And he's always making us donate fresh blood and keeps it in case of emergencies – wouldn't that help clear his system out?" He was hoping against all odds, and he knew it, but he couldn't, _wouldn't_, give in so easily.

"And we can donate more!" Mikey instantly broke in. Raph had already anticipated the idea and was already unconsciously pumping his hand in preparation while nodding. "Absolutely. Just say the word and –"

"No." It stung Leatherhead to the core to say it, to bring their hopes to a crashing halt, but he knew it had to be done. "The cardiac arrest would place him as an immediate candidate for dialysis, which would provide an intensive cleaning of his entire blood volume. And you simply could not donate the necessary amount to clear out his system, even with the stored supply. And no," he anticipated the question from the youngest girl, "you cannot donate. You are human. And even my reptilian blood would be questionable in this situation. Dialysis would be the best solution on all levels… were he human."

_Were he human._ The words hung in the air like a foul, ugly barb. Never had Casey or April so bitterly regretted their friends' mutated state that kept them all from adequate medical care – indeed, never before had the Turtles and Splinter so deeply resented it.

Splinter cleared his throat. "In this case, Leatherhead, Professor - what _**can**_ be done for my son?"

_How do I tell him? How do I look him in the face and tell him that the only treatment I can give to his beloved son, to one of the best people I have ever known is…_ "Charcoal," the crocodile spoke bitterly. "Repeated oral dosages of charcoal, and constant monitoring."

An outraged silence followed, with everyone present consumed with the same thought. _That's all? He's dying and all we can give him is charcoal? That's –"_

"BULL!" Angel screamed.

"Angel, quit it!" Casey ordered, grabbing her shoulders. _Not that I don't totally agree with her, but not in front of them, it's hurting them enough already! _"This ain't the time or place to –"

"It's the perfect time, because we're LOSING time!" Angel wrenched herself out of Casey's grasp through sheer force of will, before stalking up to the Fugitoid. "You said he needed IV treatments for different stuff, right?"

"Erm, yes…" Professor Honeycutt replied hesitantly.

"Do you know what, exactly? I mean, you'd be able to give me a list?" the girl pressed on, unwittingly forcing him backwards.

"Well, yes, I have the readings that tell me what he needs and in what measures – but it would do no good," he explained patiently. "We have no access to such things."

"Oh yes we do." Angel's face was grim as she whipped her cell phone out of her back pocket. Quickly hitting a speed-dial number, she hopped around on the spot, muttering "come on, come ON, answer you moron… if you have it turned off I swear I'll – RYAN! Oh thank God. No, I don't know what I interrupted and I don't care. Now listen, it's an emergency. What? No, I haven't been – look bro, just listen for a moment! You remember what happened at the Vopelhart building, RIGHT?!" There was a long pause. "Yeah, and you remember who saved your life, RIGHT?! The people who you Don't Talk About Or Else? Okay. Well, now one of them needs OUR help. He needs stuff. Medical stuff. I can get you a list – what? Oh, don't give me that! I know you've gone straight, and believe me I'm glad, but I know that you still know people who know people on the inside of a meds warehouse. And I know that they owe you big time for warning them off the Vopelhart mess. …I'm your sister, duh, you think I don't know these things? Look, these guys saved your _life_ and now one of them is gonna die just because they can't get to a hospital like you or me. Is that fair? Just think of it as making sure they get hospital treatment. Or something. I don't care. I'll ring you with a meeting place and time and his bros will come help you with the stuff. Just be there or they'll… eat you! Yeah, eat you. Raw. Seriously. They'll do that. Now LEAVE YOUR PHONE ON!" _**BAM!**_ Chest heaving, she slammed her finger down on the 'end-call' button before looking up. "I can do something. I _can._ So I will."

"Angel!" Splinter exclaimed. "We cannot ask your brother to re-enter the criminal world which he so recently left." _Not even to save my son… he would never wish for such a thing to be done for his sake._

"Angel," Leonardo forced himself to speak. _She's giving us a way to save Donnie… and we have to say no! This isn't fair!_ He raged internally. But his voice was steady when he spoke. "We really do appreciate what you're trying to do, more than you'll ever know! But we just can't - "

"Forget that. You saved my bro when I needed it. Now I'm saving yours." Angel looked close to tears. "We're not trying to make a profit or anything dirty like that. We're trying to save Donnie's life, and it's worth saving." Her lip was quivering. "I can't fight like you guys, and I can't do sciencey medical things like April and Don, but I can help right now. I can. I _can_."

After a long pause, Professor Honeycutt spoke up thoughtfully. "You know… if we could obtain those IV treatments and stabilise his condition, then I just might be able to create a makeshift dialysis unit in time to prevent further damage. There are still some Utrom technology components in Leatherhead's lab that just might do the trick if combined with some of Donatello's innovative creations… It would not be nearly as effective as a properly constructed one, of course, but it would still be much better than nothing…" He turned and began to head for Donatello's lab. "I will make the IV medications list immediately."

And with that, the silent decision had been made. People gathered around Professor Honeycutt even as they drifted into groups as easily and naturally as if they had been told. Leatherhead was already standing alongside Raphael - the Turtle with the greatest physical strength - to aid him in collecting the implements the Professor required from their home; while Leonardo, Michaelangelo and Casey gathered around Angel, who truly lived up to her name as their link to medication and salvation, in preparation for the upcoming mission. Splinter and April stayed back, knowing that they would best help by staying with the stricken turtle and continuing to monitor and care for him until better could be provided.

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Author's Notes: If I never have to type the words "salicylate" or "aspirin" again, I will be a happy woman. As it is, reviews also make me happy. Please?


	10. Trickles From The River Mnemosyne

Author's Notes: I thought it was time for some Splinter-focus, so here we go.

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And so it was that in all the crisis and activity that had filled and surrounded the past hours, he found himself sitting alone and silent beside his fallen son, gently bathing the fevered skin with a damp cloth.

His other sons were gone to fetch aid for their brother. Leonardo and Michaelangelo had accompanied Mister Jones and Miss Angel in aquiring the medicines that Donatello so sorely needed, while Raphael was aiding Leatherhead in the location and carrying of materials that could be used by Professor Honeycutt in the creation of a substitute 'dialysis machine'. The Professor himself was running more samples in Donatello's own workspace, aided by the intelligence and dexterity of Ms O'Neill.

And he was left to watch over his son and alert the Professor to any trouble.

_Perhaps I am not the best choice for this task. I have not proven myself particularly able to judge Donatello's condition accurately so far._

Pitter patter pitter squeeeeeze trickle trickle

Carefully scrunching the damp cloth in his hands so that the excess water fell back into the bowl of cool water on the table next to his son, Splinter sighed. Normally he found the sound of water to be soothing and helpful, but it was not so in this case. Right now, the rat found no comfort in the dripping accusing his ears.

Plip. _Why did Donatello not tell me that he was this ill? I would have done something so much sooner!_ Unbidden, a memory rose its ugly head –

A walking stick crashing down on the head he was currently bathing. _The bruise is still there…_ A cross lecture that left no room for explanation. The truth learned only through accidentally overhearing a conversation. And a poor apology, accepted far too easily.

Plip. _Why did I not see his condition for myself? I had already seen once that he was deliberately neglecting himself in favour of other things, and that he had claimed to be fine despite it. Yet even after that, I simply took his words at face value again, assumed once more that his health was not at risk!_

Plip._ What sort of a father am I, to fail my son in this way? _

Pitter patter pitter squeeeeeze trickle trickle

He recalled the water feature in his room, normally so pleasant and calming. But it also brought with it another memory…

_His sons had been perhaps twelve at the time, and Raphael and Donatello had joined him in a nighttime scavenging for clothes in the charity bins outside the junkyard. Or rather, he was searching for clothes that would fit his rapidly-growing sons for any necessary visits topside while his sons searched the piles of refuse nearby for appliances that could be salvaged or used as spare parts for other items. Splinter made sure to keep his ears open for his sons, while trying to find clothes in decent condition that would hide his sons' different appearance from the eyes of the casual observer, at least. They were simply growing too big for what they had now, which also sported many rips and stains. _

_This night had proven most fortunate – it seemed as though a broadly built young man with wealthy parents had cleared out his closet to make room for newer clothing. There were many items here of great use – jackets, shirts, jeans, even several pairs of shoes – all in excellent condition and of the right size for his almost-adolescent sons. They were also durable and, if what his television stories told him was correct, rather 'fashionable' as well. A lucky find indeed!_

"_Hey, Donnie? What's this thing? Do you think we can use it?" Splinter's ears pricked up at the sound of Raphael's voice, and he climbed out of the charity bin and hurried over to his sons. He knew that all four of the boys were hoping that something called a "DVD player" might be found. Splinter was not sure why they wanted such a thing, since Donatello had already provided them with more than one television and a serviceable VCR that Splinter had finally learned to use. Still, perhaps it was time to 'upgrade', if he was using the term correctly. After all, according to the television advertisements, many of his favourite television stories were available on these "DVDs", and in whole seasons, no less! He didn't understand how, but his sons had discs that played music, so perhaps adding the pictures as well wasn't so hard? _

"_I've never seen this sort of thing before, Raph," Donatello was fingering the tubes of the unknown thing doubtfully, a frown on his face. "It looks like it has a tiny motor attached, but it's so small I've no idea what it's meant for."_

"_I believe that is what is known as a 'water feature', my sons," Splinter answered from behind them. He had not seen one for a long time, but he did remember. _

"_A what, Master Splinter? What's it for?" Raphael poked at the thing curiously._

"_What does it do? Does it purify dirty water?" Donatello was examining the motor with renewed interest, now that he thought it might have a practical application._

_Splinter could not help but smile. "No, my sons. The humans fill these with water and then use power to make the water run in order to make sound." He was actually rather pleased that there was something of mechanical gadgets that he could teach to Donatello, and not the other way around. Such a thing had not occurred for several years now. _

"_And then what?" Raphael wanted to know._

"_Then once the water is at the bottom, the motor pumps it to the top so that it may begin flowing again, thus continuing the cycle."_

"_Like a perpetual motion machine?" Donatello asked._

_Oh dear. Having no real idea of what such a device may be – for surely it could not be what it sounded like? These things rarely were with his mechanically minded son – Splinter fell back on what had become a standard answer to Donatello's questions. "I do not know, my son. Perhaps you can research the subject further later?" _

_Raphael had not been dissuaded. "But what's it supposed to be for?"_

"_So that one may enjoy the peaceful sound of running water, Raphael." One look at Raphael's face told the rat that he was less than impressed with this answer._

"_What, that's it? That's stupid! Humans build giant buildings so that they don't get even a drop of rain on them, they dump trash in the rivers then stay away because of the smell, but they buy these dinky little things and set them up on a shelf or whatever? That ain't no closer to nature! Why don't they just leave the faucet dripping or something?"_

_Splinter was forced to admit that his oft-moody son did have a point there. And yet… "It is not so simple, Raphael. I recall when I lived with Master Yoshi and his sensei, in Japan." He fondly recalled the Ancient One and his beautifully tended garden. "Master Yoshi's sensei's garden had a small stream very near the dojo, and he often left the door open during meditation to enjoy the tranquil sounds. Master Yoshi also developed a fondness for the sound, and once he arrived in this city, he purchased a similar object to this to replace the sound of the stream." _

_Raphael frowned, apparently thinking. "So… it's like those relaxation CDs Leo likes, but with no music on it, right?" He still seemed to think very little of the idea, but at least he had grasped the concept. _

"_Yes. Something like that, my son." Splinter could not resist a wistful glance at the broken object – but he knew that such things were cumbersome and heavy, and there were more items than he'd expected already. The bags would already be full. "So, did you find what you were looking for?"_

"_A DVD player? Nope, no luck. Typical." Raphael moped._

"_Sensei," Donatello spoke up, "there's one last place I haven't looked yet. There's not a large chance, but may I have five more minutes?"_

_Splinter sighed. He knew full well that Donatello hated having to abandon a project, and all four of his sons truly wanted this. And truth be told, so did he. "Very well, Donatello. Five minutes, but no longer. Meet us back at the charity bins. Raphael, please help me pack the clothing."_

_Even Raphael seemed rather pleased with the bounty found that night, claiming a few items as his own right away, and packing without complaint. When Donatello came over a few minutes later toting his own bag of salvage, Splinter put him to work as well. He was wondering if Donatello had been fortunate enough to find something, as his bag seemed as though it was heavier than normal, but his attention was soon distracted._

"_Hey Donnie? What was that thing you said back there – a per-something motion machine?"_

"_A perpetual motion machine? Well, in theory, it's a machine that once you start it, it never stops or slows down." Oh. So it WAS what it sounded like, then. "But there really isn't any way to make something that doesn't stop ever. It doesn't exist." _

"_Yes it does, and it's called MIKEY."_

"_Raphael!" _

"_Sorry, Sensei."_

_Splinter really should not have been surprised when the next week, Donatello shyly presented him with the repaired water feature, but he had been. He had thanked his son gratefully, and personally he found it much better than the player, which was eventually acquired . Long after many stories had been cancelled, the water feature continued to trickle and soothe, and had done so until it had been destroyed along with their entire home by Baxter Stockman's Mousers. Soon after making their new home habitable, Donatello has somehow procured another water feature for him, and recently yet another after Karai's vicious attack and yet another new home. _

_Yet another home on which Donatello had worked so hard to make liveable and safe. _

Plip. Plip. Clutching the damp, soft cloth tightly in his hand, he turned back to Donatello and began to gently bathe his son's overheated skin, trying to help bring down the fever that gripped the turtle so cruelly. At least Donatello did not fight against the application of the cooling cloth. The tub was a different matter altogether. Leatherhead had stressed the importance of lowering Donatello's temperature as soon as possible without lowering it too much, given his cold-blooded state, and despite the fact that the water was a bearable temperature to the rest of them, his ill son whimpered and struggled even in unconsciousness. _It must seem like being submerged in ice to him. _

A soft murmur and a push against his wrist interrupted his thoughts. Startled, he looked down to see that Donatello was trying to push the cloth away, eyes blinking sleepily. _He is awake!_ "Donatello! My son, can you hear me?" he asked urgently of the teenager, who was now shifting sluggishly in discomfort. Seeing that Donatello was fading back into oblivion, he sharply pinched his son's arm, eliciting an indignant sound from his patient. "Donatello, stay awake!" The fear of a parent added a note of steel to the last order, turning it into a demand.

Donatello muzzily opened his eyes once more, and looked around him with confusion, eyes darting from place to place without seeming to focus on any one thing. Splinter held his breath. _Leatherhead spoke of the dangers of lack of oxygen for prolonged periods – but surely such a thing could not happen. Not to my son. Not to THIS son! _Finally, a hoarse whisper broke the silence. "Master Splinter?"

Splinter could have cried in relief. _He remembers me! There is no damage!_ "Yes, my son. I am here. Now, what is the last thing you remember? How did you come to be so ill? Tell me what happened, Donatello."

The bright bloom of hope in the rat's stomach slowly faded as Donatello's eyes flickered across the room again, as if searching for the answer somewhere on the walls. Just as relief was beginning to give way to worry once more, Donatello finally answered, "List."

"…I do not understand, my son." _I do not WANT to understand. This cannot be!_

"List. I fix things on the list," Donatello reiterated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Like the Shell Cells. I fix those. And TVs. Computers. Kitchen stuff. Security. I fix all that." Suddenly a look of worry crossed his face, and the arm under Splinter's hand tensed. "The pipes! I need to fix the pipes!" He began to push himself upward shakily, muttering incoherently about tools and a list. Splinter lunged forward and caught his son's shoulders, pushing him back down firmly. "No, Donatello. The pipes are in excellent condition. You do not have to worry about it. You must rest." _Pipes? What pipes is he talking about? There are no broken pipes here, are there?_

"Oh." Donatello considered this with a great deal of solemnity. "I'll fix the fridge, then."

"No! Donatello, stay still. The refrigerator is working perfectly. You do not need to fix it, you need rest – I said stay still, my son!"

"But… but I fix things. You teach us, Leo leads us, Raph protects us, Mikey makes us smile, and I fix things. I _have_ to fix things!" With every word, the turtle grew more and more agitated, and Splinter was forced to physically restrain his son once more.

"Donatello, please calm yourself! I…" and Splinter paused for a moment, despising himself for what he was about to say. "If you rest now, then I will make sure there is something for you to fix later. But you must promise me that you will rest!"

To his great relief, Donatello ceased struggling. "I… okay, Sensei," he said, still seeming a little uncertain as he lay back down. This brief burst of activity had taken its toll, and he was already drifting back to sleep. "I'll fix everything soon, honest…" He slipped back into unconsciousness with the gentle touch of his father tenderly stroking his forehead. A father who refused to be ashamed of the tear that trickled down his face.

_What sort of a father, indeed? What father bribes their son to rest while ill with the promise of more work? What father fails to notice his teenager has reached such a poor state? A father such as myself, it seems. _

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Author's Notes: Some more family-and-friends reflections coming up! But is it a case of too little too late - of not appreciating something precious until it's lost to you forever?


	11. Ugly Truths And Anger Management

Author's Notes: Here's the next chapter. Sorry about not posting every day any more, but Real Life is getting a bit hectic so every two or three days is looking like a safer bet. I do apologise for that. I hope the quality of the chapters is good enough to make up for any wait.

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It was no secret to anyone who knew Raphael that he preferred to deal with any and all problems with the application of considerable force via the mediums of fists, feet, weapons and words. At least, that was how Leatherhead would have put it. He was well aware that Raphael himself would have chosen a much simpler and more colourful phrase for it, most likely relating to the 'busting of skulls'. Therefore, the mighty scowl on the turtle's face did not surprise him in the least. _I too wish to see Bishop pay for the misery Donatello has been through on his account._

What continued to mystify Leatherhead, however, was Raphael's unnatural silence beyond the occasional gruff reply or question regarding a piece of equipment. He had expected Raphael to use this opportunity away from the others to vent his anger using words, at the very least, without fear of distressing his brothers or father any more than they already were. Unlike the fierce control of Leonardo, which held the anger inside until it fed on one's soul; or the instinctive denial of Michaelangelo, which would collapse as surely as Donatello's body had and leave Michaelangelo vulnerable to the emotional storm; he had expected Raphael to take a slightly more healthy approach and vent the worst of his rage. Yet he had not – not a single syllable of excruciating detail of how Bishop would be made to pay for this, this, this...

"This?" A circuit board was unceremoniously shoved under his nose. Leatherhead blinked as he brought it into focus and examined it.

Reluctantly, he shook his head. _Close, Raphael, but not what I had intended. _"No, this will not help, but it is visually quite similar, if you would continue to look for –"

An angry growl was the only warning before the circuit board in question took a very short and speedy flight across the room, to brought to an abrupt and violent halt by the wall. Watching the somewhat pathetic remains fall to the floor, Leatherhead sighed. _Ah. It begins for him now._ "Perhaps you may find it easier if I look and you cushion and pack the components?" he suggested as tactfully as he could.

Raphael nodded reluctantly, a sour look on his face, and crossed his arms, obviously forcing himself to wait. As Leatherhead has suspected, soon the muttering began. _"Gonna kill him for this. I swear I'm gonna punch his teeth down his throat and then rip off his arm and beat him round the head with it…"_

"Raphael. While I can emphathise with your desire to inflict vengeance upon Bishop, now is not the time to focus on such matters. Such things must wait until Donatello is healed and returned to us."

"Hm?" Raphael turned to him, looking slightly blank. "Oh yeah," and he propelled his fist into his palm with a satisfyingly meaty sound. "Bishop'll be paying his pound of flesh too, plus interest, believe me. Preferably the pounds of flesh on top of his skinny neck. But I was talking about Donnie."

_What?!_ Leatherhead was shocked. "I do not understand what you mean, Raphael."

"This whole – thing! Don not letting us know he was feelin' sick – he shoulda let YOU know in any case! Possibilities of infection with the mutation or whatever it's called, right? And the aspirin thing – he shoulda known better than t' go popping pills like candies. If it wasn't helpin' him feel better, he shoulda just stopped working, so why didn't he? Don's the last person I woulda pegged for an – an –" Raphael's face scrunched up before he spat the word out with disbelief, "an ADDICT! And I just – I helped it happen, Leatherhead. Whenever he asked for some, I'd hand it over – hell, I even _offered_ the crap to him! If he dies or whatever, then I'll have helped kill him! He's my bro, for crying out loud!"

Leatherhead was silent for a moment, choosing his words with great care. When he spoke, his voice was as calm and gentle as he could manage. _Once more I must counsel_. "There is a great deal of truth in what you say. No matter what the circumstances or reasons involved, the undeniable fact is that Donatello is currently addicted to aspirin and to caffeine, and dangerously so. These addictions must be dealt with accordingly. There can be no more of theses substances permitted in your home, even a few years from now, or Donatello may find himself addicted once more." Raphael tensed even more, his fists clenching helplessly.

"However," Leatherhead was quick to continue, "many circumstances must be taken into account. Firstly – and most importantly – is that while the aspirin would have had an adverse effect regardless, we must also take into account that in this case the biochemical reactions destroyed the outbreak virus which had made its way into his system. If the virus had gone unchecked, it would likely have rendered him like the other mutants currently suffering from its effects, and the Donatello we know would have been transformed into an aggressive, mindless beast. For someone like him, that would have truly been a fate crueller than death. In addition, if this had occurred, you would have had to have faced and dealt with him yourselves – or allowed the human authorities to do so."

Raphael grunted a reluctant agreement. "Fine. I'll give ya that. Still, Don didn't know about that, so he ain't got that excuse."

"Which leads me to my second point. Until today, were you aware that aspirin was anything other than harmless?"

"Well, no, I didn't know it could do THIS. But Donnie would have! He knows all these things!"

"Is that necessarily so?" Leatherhead asked gently. "I think that perhaps you forget, even though you call him your 'little brother', that Donatello is the same age as you. He is a teenager. An extremely gifted one, but an adolescent nonetheless. He does not know everything, nor can we expect him to. Moreover, he is a product of the culture he grew up in – this culture. After all, addictions such as alcohol, nicotine and illegal drugs are covered in depth in health education in schools, as well as via television and other media coverage. And legal drugs such as alcohol and nicotine are required by law to have warnings on the packets. Prescription drugs are similarly monitored and restricted by the simple fact of their being prescribed and dispensed via pharmacies – one cannot abuse them without also knowingly lying to one's medical practitioner." Leatherhead shook his head. "However, aspirin is an over-the-counter purchase, and even young children drink caffeine in sweetened beverages. Caffeine and aspirin are both common everyday items, and very few people stop to consider the potential ill-effects if misused. Certainly, caffeine energy drinks are required to come with warnings, but coffee – which holds similar concentrations of caffeine – is not. Donatello may have been more aware of the exact chemical properties of aspirin and caffeine, but he still grew up with the same cultural assumption that you did – that caffeine is a normal and indeed necessary everyday item, and that aspirin is only dangerous if one takes a great amount all at one time.

"Which he DID!"

"In the end, yes he did. But recall that it built up in his system over a period of time, unbeknowst to him. Can a person already partially intoxicated with alcohol accurately judge how much more they can safely imbibe? I think not. In addition, Donatello was battling against his own body on several fronts – the outbreak virus concentrating the salicylate inside his body, the lack of sleep and nourishment."

"And that's ANOTHER thing!" Raphael punched Leatherhead's worktable in frustration. "If he was feeling that lousy, why didn't he have a proper meal, or go to bed? The other stuff he was working on, it weren't _that_ important!"

"Apparently he thought it was." _And now I believe we have arrived at the true heart of the matter._

"Yeah, well, APPARENTLY he's a damn IDIOT! So what if we used the same stuff against the mutant bugs that we did before? They worked fine last week, they'll work this week too! So what if Mikey has to go without his videogames for a while? Big frickin' tragedy, that! So what if the BattleShell needs new brakes? I ain't dumb, I can do that much!"

"But you did not." Leatherhead noted shrewdly. _And you are furious with yourself for it._

For a moment Raphael looked like he may strike out in rage for that remark, before suddenly he seemed to fold like a poorly-made origami construction."No, I didn't. Don's just always done that stuff. It's what he _does_, LH. He just – does stuff and I never ask questions and I always thought someone else did. Guess not."

Leatherhead laid his hand gently on the turtle's shoulder. "I, too, am experiencing these emotions. Anger with Donatello over not taking better care of himself – and anger at myself for not ensuring it when I suspected something may have been amiss. However, it is best to bring these matters up with Donatello when he awakens, and bring him to an understanding of his importance to us." _When. Because I cannot face the 'if'. And he will awaken capable of understanding, for I cannot face the prospect of that alternative either._

Raphael nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know." He paused. "I'm still gonna knock some sense into him though."

Leatherhead surprised himself by laughing. "I already suspected as much, Raphael. In fact, I myself have quite a few words to be sharing with Donatello."

"You give him the five-syllable ones. I'll stick to the four-letter ones. Deal?"

"Deal, as you say." And two green hands shook an agreement before returning to the task of salvaging old Utrom equipment that could function as an artificial kidney for the unconscious Donatello.

"So… LH, I was wondering. About Bishop."

Leatherhead allowed a shadow of a feral grin to grace his features. "Yes?"

"I was just thinkin' that maybe… and BELIEVE me, it ticks me off to be sayin' this, but… maybe we should be letting him know about this sally-cate thing?"

The microscope Leatherhead was currently moving went clattering to the floor. "What? You want to ALERT Bishop of your brother's condition? You wish to let him know that one of you is vulnerable and even more of a target, not to mention doubly valuable to him as an experimental specimen? _HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!_"

"Whoa, whoa! Back off, LH!" Raphael was backing away from him, hands up in the traditional "I'm unarmed" pose, and Leatherhead realised belatedly that he had been advancing on Raphael in his anger. It took all the considerable practice he had undertaken managing his rages to control the fury that had erupted in him at those words. Still growling, he demanded, "What in the world would make you think such a foolish notion?!"

"Look, I don't like the slimebag any more than you do! You know I don't! It's his fault the virus is out there in the first place – like you said, Don's just become double the value to him. But that's the _point_! He's got as much of a reason to get the mutant outbreak back under control fast as we do, if not more. If the authorities find out where it came from before he solves the problem, he loses out bigtime. And meanwhile we're running around like crazy trying to control things and we're not getting ANYTHING done! You were working so hard on analysing the virus and building that holding unit and all, and it wore Donnie right down into the ground, and now we HAVE the answer. What we DON'T have is any way ta deal with the whole problem! Bishop does. I'm not sayin' that we should give him Don on a silver platter – shell, no! For crying out loud, just send Mister M.I.B. an email for all I care! But he's the only one who can fix the problem through the whole city at one go. We help Don, then we send Bishop the message – because if we don't, Don will when he gets better, because that's the way Don is. You know it as well as I do, LH. We gotta, in case…"

Leatherhead had never struggled so hard in his life to accept a hard truth in such a short period of time. "I will consider it after Donatello is convalescing," was all he could concede. _Raphael is entirely correct, but I cannot speak or think of Bishop in a manner of charity at this moment. I simply cannot. I am too angry, too stressed, too… weak. _

Raphael nodded, cautiously. _Whoa. Never wanted that look directed at me. I remember when he tossed Mikey around like a rag doll. Maybe I shoulda waited to bring it up – but there's at least one human affected by this crap that I know of, and how many others might be out there? We just can't risk it, much as I hate giving Bishop anything 'cept the sharp end of my sai._ "Lot of the 'convalescing' depends on how Leo and Mikey go with Angel and the bonehead, so just pray they don't screw nothing up."

And their work continued in the same near-silence in which it had begun.

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Author's Notes: As per usual, please review. Honestly, it helps more than anyone realises.


	12. Mission Imperfect

Author's Notes: Sorry for the wait. Hope this chapter is somewhat worth it.

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_This is unbearable,_ Leo couldn't help but think.

As promised, Angel's brother had met her at the place they had agreed upon. While he remembered the Turtles and had a great deal of gratitude for them, he was extremely reluctant to pull in the favour owed if it meant robbing a med warehouse, and it took another screaming match for him to finally fold and agree to make contact with the person inside. This turned out to be a security guard who would always 'edit' the security videos on any job where he worked – for a price. Ryan's disappearance in the Vopelhart building had nearly cost him his job, and a considerable favour was thus owed. Unfortunately, the man's shift in the warehouse was still over an hour away, and Ryan had just that long to convince him that the favour was worth that much effort. Worse yet, Ryan had insisted on dealing with him alone. Pointing out that the turtles couldn't be seen was obvious – and the security cameras would be out of commission later anyway. But more problematic was Angel – "No, Angel, you stay right outta this guy's sight. I don't want him deciding he can use you as extra leverage for another favour, you get me? And not you either, Casey – you been good to Angel, man, and I don't want you ID'd to the cops if Pete decides to rat us out, favour or no favour."

That left them waiting on a nearby rooftop to avoid being seen, a wait that rang with such a loud buzz of worry that not even conversation could drown out the crushing air around them. Casey had decided that getting his skull busted just might hurt less.

"Ryan'll come through, guys," Angel promised for what seemed like the millionth time, in a desperate effort to reassure them – or herself. Even she wasn't sure. "Pete owes him big, and he knows it. And if he has to, Ryan can bust his ass to the cops. Ryan'll get us in for sure."

Mikey nodded, scuffing his foot on the rooftop. "Can't we just take out the security cameras ourselves?" he burst out. "Break 'em and they can't record a thing! We don't need to wait. We can go now!"

"NO, Mikey. We can't. It's too risky. There's no guarantee we'd get them all, and it's still reasonably light. If even one camera catches either of us, we're in big trouble. This Pete person will be turning all the security cameras off and making it look like a malfunction."

"Leo, we can't wait anymore! Don's down there and he could be d – he's sick right _now_ and he needs this stuff now, not whenever this idiot decides to end his donut break and turn up! He doesn't have time for us to waste!"

"I **know** that, Mikey!" _Shell, don't you think I KNOW that?_ Leo bit his lip, pushing away the ugly images that threatened to disrupt his focus, pictures of his quiet brother who needed help, _lying in a pool of his own bloody vomit, spasming out of control on the floor, limp and unresponsive even though I pushed on his plastron as hard as I dared to, Raph blowing air down his throat as if he could force Don to breathe with lung power alone…_ _Oh yes, I know how Mikey feels._ "But we can't take the risk here, either."

"Leo's right, Mike," Casey interjected, seeing a fight brewing in Michaelangelo's stormy eyes. "All it takes is the two of you, or even just one of ya, caught on camera for half a second. That's all they'll need – just a hint that you were here, and Bishop or the Foot will be all over it like flies on garbage. That ain't gonna do nothing but make things worse, and if the Lair gets found again, Don's in no shape to be getting away."

Mike snifed and nodded, reluctantly acknowledging the logic of Casey's statement. Casey eyed the two turtles carefully. _Oldest an' youngest, according ta them… but they're all the same age, really, and they're all too young for this crap._ "Yo, Angel? Come over here for a bit. Let's see if we can get an update from Ryan, let him know we need to speed things up a bit if he can."

"What? But… oh, okay." Subdued, Angel followed Casey over to the side of the rooftop, sitting down and leaning against the concrete backing on the roof's edge. Casey awkwardly slid himself down next to her. _Not like they don't already know that the reception on the cell is fine over there as well, but I don't think they'll care much why we moved._

Reaching out to ruffle her hair – knowing it would distract her because she hated it so – he sighed. "It'll be okay, Angel. Honest."_ I hope._

"…I didn't know, Casey. I swear I didn't." Angel sniffed.

"What?"

"That he was sick," Angel clarified. "I wanted help for school, yeah, but I wouldn't have bothered Don if I'd had any idea he was so sick and worn out. Cross my heart, I'd have left him alone."

Casey draped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her in for a one-armed hug. "I know, Angel. It wasn't you – and it weren't **just** you, either. He fixed my fridge for me when it went and died last week. Didn't ask no questions, just came up and fixed it right then and there, at some ungodly hour at night, and didn't even act like it was any big deal. And I didn't think to ask about how he was or take a good look at him to see if he was okay – I just said thanks and that was it. 'Cause that's Don, you know? He likes fixing stuff, and he likes DOING stuff for other people. Ain't enough people in the world like that, I reckon. But that just means ya gotta appreciate them even more. Don saved me a packet of money with that stupid fridge, but I'd pay it all out triple just to go back and say something. Anything."

Angel nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why all the best people seem to be the ones that die, huh? They just keep on doing good things for others till it kills them."

Casey closed his eyes, remembering his own father, who had stood up for what was right and paid the heaviest price for it. _Pops… you were the best, too. _"Could be, Angel, I guess."

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Meanwhile, Leo and Mikey were still arguing.

"Leo, I'm TELLING you we can take all the cameras out! Shell, we can smash up the whole security rig if we have to! Blow a hole in the side of the warehouse with the missles Don put in the BattleShell, and –"

"No."

Anger bubbled up in Mikey, thick and hot and acidic. "What do you mean, NO? You're so worried about the mission being perfect, you forget WHY we're on the mission? I'll tell you why! Don's sick, _really_ sick, as in he could d-die," Michaelangelo forced himself to say the ugly word, "and you don't even care, do you, Fearless Lea-"

"Mikey, STOP!" And Mikey found himself blinking in shock as he watched Leo spin around and glaring at him, looking angry and guilty and forbidding and wretched and were Leo's hands _trembling_? "Just – stop, okay? We're **not** doing this until we can be sure. I'm not risking you too!"

_Risking me too?_ "…Leo?"

"Don't you get it? I should have **seen**this! I… I **did** see it, but I didn't **let** myself see it, because that would have meant Don wasn't okay, and I couldn't cope with that, all right? Not now!" And now the words came tumbling out, like pus bubbling out of a lanced wound. "We were all defeated by the Shredder – if not for the Utroms, we would have been killed in space! Then I became a monster myself because I couldn't handle being beaten, and punished you all because of my own stupid fear. I got so out of control that I hurt Master Splinter, and had to be sent to the Ancient One – which meant that I wasn't around when you needed me **again**! You were all split apart, and we've just got back together and then there was this mutant outbreak, and I just couldn't handle the thought of failing any of you any more. So when Don told me he just had the flu and not to worry, I… didn't. Because if it was anything more than the flu, then it was something else I missed and I couldn't let myself even recognise a chance of that. Don might not be in this mess right now if I hadn't been such a coward and just admitted I hadn't been a good elder brother again! Okay?! And I can't lose you too, Mikey. I just can't let that happen, no matter what." Leo looked up at the sky – _darkening, thank the spirits, no more waiting_ – "We have to get that medicine, and we **will**. But we only get one chance at this, and we have to do it RIGHT. Which means no more of you getting hurt because of me being… being…"

"Being what, Leo?" Mikey sighed. "Being not perfect?"

Leonardo sent an annoyed glare his way, but said nothing in return.

"Leo, you might not actually believe me when I say this, but the only one who expects you to be perfect is YOU. I sure don't expect you to be, and neither do Raph or," Here, he faltered for a moment. "Or Donnie. We might tease, but that's it, dude – teasing. Master Splinter doesn't expect it either, you know that."

"Master Splinter made me-"

"Made you the leader, not a magician! Shell, Leo, you can't control and predict everything! Life doesn't work that way – people don't work that way! You just gotta roll with things sometimes, dude – like, when in a fight, the other guy pulls out a hidden weapon and you gotta chance your tactics."

Leo stared at Mikey. "When did you get so smart?" he joked weakly. _Who knew I'd ever be taking philosophy lessons from MIKEY of all people?_

A bitter smile crossed Michealangelo's face, looking out of place on the normally cheerful turtle. "Not so smart – I missed it too, remember? I asked him to fix my Nintendo, and I laughed at him the time he fell asleep during meditation. Should've guessed then that something wasn't right, but instead I was just kinda glad that I wasn't the only one having trouble meditating."

A short silence descended between the two brothers. "Mikey… why DO you have so much trouble meditating, anyway? It really is quite easy…" _How can he have such trouble with something so simple?_

The youngest turtle rolled his eyes. "Easy for YOU, maybe. Me, I can't keep my body still and think about eternal nothingness and other weird things. I have to be doing something, you know? Even goofing off has a point, bro. Sitting still and thinking about nothing might work for you and Splinter, but for me, it's just HARD. And annoying."

"Oh," Leo nodded thoughtfully. "When you put it that way, I see what you mean." Even when seemingly wasting time, Mikey's attention was always focussed on SOMETHING – whether it were Klunk, a comic, a videogame or the task of pulling a prank, he had something in his immediate attention. When Mikey explained it like that, it suddenly made a lot more sense that he struggled to achieve the spiritual stillness needed for meditation.

"Um, so why'd you ask about the meditation? It's not THAT important now, is it?!"

"No. I just – wanted to know. I realised just now that if Donnie – well, it's just that when I think of him, I think of stuff that he's **done**. Not his favourite music or what he thinks of pretty much any controversial issue or that one place on Earth he'd visit if he could, or anything about WHO he is. I don't know who ANY of you are as well as I thought I did. So I'm going to ask from now on, and my pride be damned."

"Oh, Leo…" Mikey said softly. "He'll be FINE." _He has to be, and I have to believe it or else I'll scream and I won't be able to stop._ "And you are a good big bro – the best, dude. And we call you Fearless Leader because we respect you for it. We totally need you. Just so you know." The two brothers shared a smile. "We definitely need a new 'Sharing-And-Caring Sensitive-New-Age Express-Your-Feelings' type policy in our family. Think Raph'll go for it?"

Leo snorted. _Now isn't the time to laugh!_

"Hey guys, heads up!" Angel came pelting over, waving her cellphone over her head. Casey stepped up behind her, strapping on his mask with an uncharacteristically serious look on his face.

"It's showtime, guys." _Hope you understand, Pops… _

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Authors Notes: Again in this chapter I tried to switch some roles around – I didn't want Raphael to do nothing but stalk around and scowl, but to keep his temper when needed. I didn't want Mikey to be all teary and Leo completely stoic – they're both upset by this and can support each other. This is why I want reviews – because I need to know from you, the reader, how this is working. I need to know if I'm managing to show some new and rarely-explored sides to our beloved characters while still portraying them as essentially themselves, or if I'm just wasting my time with this approach.


	13. My Candle Burns At Both Ends

Author's Notes: Sorry for the lateness of the update. Health problems in my own family have meant that things like fandom and fanfic have pretty much had to take a back seat to Real Life. Hope this chapter was worth the wait for you.

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April gritted her teeth. Staying behind while everyone else was out being active in the solution – including Casey! – was grating on her badly. Every cell in her body ached to get out there and be part of the process, yet her mind knew full well that she could best help Don by staying here and running the relay between Professor Honeycutt and Splinter. Her nimble human fingers could perform tasks that the other two could not – such as drawing blood to test, and helping to analyse the results.

She'd certainly known _intellectually_ that aspirin thinned the blood and should be treated with care in that regard. But it had still shocked her badly when she had first pierced Donatello's vein with the needle and taken a sample, only to realise that the flow did not want to stop or clot. Sheer willpower was the only thing that had allowed her to deal with it without panic. Master Splinter definitely did not need that on top of everything else.

There was also the small matter of supplying Splinter with food and drink. The rat – who for the first time she actually thought of as 'old' – was refusing refreshment, refusing anything that involved leaving his son's side. April finally managed to coax him into eating a sandwich and a cup of green tea with the argument that he'd be no good to Donnie, or to any of his sons, if he essentially did the same thing as Don had and neglected himself for the sake of others. Sighing, the 'discussion' leaving her feeling exhausted and wrung-out, she made herself a sandwich and poured herself some of the cold, leftover coffee from the machine – _Donatello's coffee_. A practical necessity that made her shudder with the morbidity of it.

_Am I going to lose my best friend?_

The thought terrified her on many levels. She couldn't imagine life now without any of the Turtles, but especially Donnie – Donnie, who not only listened to her when she spoke with words greater than three syllables, but could actively participate in scientific discussion and debate. She was well aware that his ability and potential far outstripped hers, but he didn't seem to mind that, simply grateful as she had been to find a like-minded friend. Donnie, who often seemed to know instinctively when to push on a subject and when to back off. Donnie, who had done nothing but support and encourage her in every aspect of her life, to believe more in herself, to muster up the courage to ask Splinter to train her in fighting. Donnie, who had silently admired her from afar for so long.

It was no secret to April that Donnie had a crush on her, and had had for some time now. The problem was, she simply couldn't. At first, as much as she had liked the Turtles, they were – well, turtles. Thinking of any of them in a non-platonic capacity had simply been impossible. And now, all this time later, it was still impossible, but for very different reasons.

She had grown so close to them all, and Donatello in particular, that her heart had adopted them as younger brothers. The very idea of pursuing him romantically made her feel like a filthy, perverted old woman. _Old_. And there was another thing – the age gap. No matter how sweet Donnie was, how thoughtful, how similar in interests to her, there was simply no denying that he was a teenager, and she had passed that stage long ago.

_And now he might not ever get the chance to get past adolescence. And not from the danger of being a mutated turtle, but by this – something so, so… STUPID!_

"Are you all right, Ms O'Neill?" A polite voice with a British accent broke into her thoughts, jolting her back to reality.

"What? Oh. Yes. Sorry, Professor – I was just… thinking."

Professor Honeycutt nodded deferentially. "As have we all, I believe." He laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "Donatello's condition remains steady for the moment. Provided the medications arrive in a timely manner, there is a large chance of recovery."

"And what about the damage? Leatherhead said brain damage!" April hated herself for being so shallow – would Donatello's life be worth any less if he no longer understood the difference between a parabola and a hyperbola? If he could no longer remember the numerical value of Avogadro's constant? If he could no longer comprehend the symbols on a keyboard? Yet so much of the Donnie that lived in her mind was wrapped up inextricably with knowledge, and to remove one from the other seemed sacrilegious.

"I am so sorry, my dear, but I cannot answer that question. Only time shall tell exactly what changes, if any, have been wrought in that regard."

Nodding miserably, she turned back towards Don's computer area. _At least I can still be of some help here, even if I can't promise anything._

_None of us can promise anything. And it sucks._

"Ms O'Neill? There is something I have been rather wondering about – it is not important, mark you. Just something I thought you might have known, as a close friend of Donatello's."

April blinked. "Yes, Professor – what is it?"

"I could not help but notice the background that exists on Donatello's desktop – It has some lines which I believe to be a poetry excerpt. However, I was not aware that Donatello was an aficionado of poetry, and I do not recognise this particular piece in any case." The Fugitoid seemed genuinely puzzled, as puzzled as April herself. Then as she glanced upon the verse sitting and glowing calmly out from the screen, it clicked with all the force of a sledgehammer blow to the gut.

Don wasn't a particular fan of poetry, or of this particular poet – but she was. And she'd mentioned it to him not long ago.

"He made this background for me," she whispered as she allowed herself to collapse in the chair, reading the lines swirled in elegant cursive alongside a magnificent image of a sunrise.

_Upon this gifted age, in its dark hour,  
Rains from the sky a meteoric shower  
Of facts . . ._

"Upon This Age by Edna St. Vincent Millay…" she whispered. Then she burst out in bitter laughter that surprised even her. "It should have been First Fig, really. Or maybe Dirge Without Music."

"Oh." The Professor seemed to considered this for a moment. "Why should it have been one and not the other? This one seems most lovely, and very much a philosophy that you and Donatello both seem to share in regards to science – there is always something new to be discovered."

April shook her head. "Right now, First Fig is so fitting it's cruel." Then she booted up the internet and found the poem she was looking for. _I'm not reciting it out loud. If Splinter should hear…_

Silently Professor Honeycutt took in the words on the screen before him.

_My candle burns at both ends;  
It will not last the night;  
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –  
It gives a lovely light!_

Despite having processing power and memory capacity far beyond that of his 'old' human body, he found himself reading the poem more slowly than necessary. And a second time, and a third. "Yes, I can see what you are referring to," he said to the unhappy young woman softly. "And I do truly understand. You are not the only one for whom Donatello has been creating a gift as a surprise."

He held up a jar that was full of something _moving_, something very familiar… "Nano!" she exclaimed in recognition.

"Yes, the attached files do note their history. Donatello appears to have collected these nanobots from encountering a larger self-aware program unit named 'Nano', as you say. He had modified their programming so that it would allow the nanobots to function as a self-repair unit for me – essentially, as an immune system, much as I once had as an organic being. I would no longer have had to examine and treat every injury and programming virus with conscious effort, since much of it would have been done automatically, just as for you. You need not feel guilty over his gift, Ms O'Neill. It is a major part of Donatello's method for showing his affection for another being, even though it 'burns the candle at both ends', to use the imagery of the poem.

But to continue the imagery, it is our task to ensure that the candle does not burn out, by any means possible."

Rubbing at her eyes fiercely, April ordered herself angrily not to cry. _There are more important things to worry about here…_ Ignoring the smudges of mascara left behind on her fingers, and deliberately choosing to forget about what her eyes must appear like, she stood. "Is there anything else?"

"Not at this moment, Ms O'Neill. Perhaps you could check on Donatello and Splinter, and see if anything is required for their comfort." Left unspoken was the fact that at the moment, Splinter was the only one they could truly do anything for.

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Author's Notes: First Fig, Dirge Without Music and the excerpt from Upon This Age are both written by the poet Edna St Vincent Millay, not me.

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_I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.  
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind.  
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned  
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned._

_Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.  
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.  
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,  
A formula, a phrase remains,--but the best is lost._

_The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love-  
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled  
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.  
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world._

_Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave  
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;  
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.  
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned._

"Dirge Without Music" by Edna St. Vincent Millay.


	14. A Formula, A Phrase Remains

Author's Notes: Well, it was a longer delay in posting than I had hoped, but it's also a longer chapter than usual so hopefully that helps a little. Also, I revised the last chapter a little bit – it now has a bit more on Professor Honeycutt and nanobots. (It makes sense if you read it.)

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The silence of the Lair during the interminable wait has quickly given way to chaos. Professor Honeycutt had finished the calculations for the dialysis unit and April had begun to prepare the area around Donnie for the necessary treatments, just as Mikey, Leo, Casey had arrived with the intravenous medication and Angel, who had refused to go home until she knew Don would be all right. At almost the same time, Raph and Leatherhead had made it back with the promised materials, and a frenzied switch had taken place as the three scientists – human, crocodile and cybernetic – divided up the work based on who was best suited for each task.

Professor Honeycutt had immediately claimed the salvage for use in the creation of a makeshift dialysis machine, as he was the only one with the knowledge to do so. He had quickly enlisted the aid of Raphael, Michaelangelo, and Leonardo in this, ostensibly to give himself some helpers, but in truth it was more to keep them occupied and out of the way of the other two scientists, whom he knew could not afford extra people hanging around. Nevertheless, he found himself glad for their company and assisstance as he worked tirelessly on the machine. Often he would direct them to hold or weld a larger piece as he managed the smaller components by reprogramming the very nanobots which Donatello had, ironically, been customising for the task of promoting HIS well-being. _It is a shame I cannot simply direct the nanobots to heal Donatello's body directly, but such a feat is beyond their capabilities._

Leatherhead and April, meanwhile, quickly divided up their own duties. Due to the need for hands that could handle the delicate, human-sized needles, Casey and Splinter were prevailed upon to help. Angel was most put out that she had been left out, insisting she could still help, until her brother, recognising a war he could not win, finally suggested she help by providing drink and sandwiches for everyone before going home. The forgotten feast that was once lunch had been a long time ago, and though nobody would admit it under the circumstances, everyone was very hungry indeed.

The news that Splinter had to report was mixed blessings in Leatherhead's view. He was extremely heartened to know that Donatello had awoken, even if only briefly, had recognised his father and been able to speak in reasonably coherent sentences referring to his then-absent brothers. This fact spoke well for the fate of his memory capacities. However, much grimmer in outlook was the general confusion and lack of sense that Donatello had reportedly exhibited. The fact that Donatello had completely failed to answer a direct question from Splinter, instead addressing another issue entirely, caused him to have concerns for the turtle's sensory processing and comprehension abilities. _When he awakens again, I will have to conduct some tests. Until then I can only treat the body, not the mind._

The most vital points to tackle, Leatherhead deduced as he studied the results of the freshest blood sample, was to attempt to stabilise the unbalanced pH levels in Donatello's body and to address the dehydration immediately. Thus, he quickly established the sites for intravenous cannulae and had Ms O'Neill slide the delicate needles into Donatello's veins, one in the back of each hand, under his direction and guidance. Splinter then taped them carefully into place, and IV bags of sodium bicarbonate solution and saline solution were administered. Mr Jones assisted by propping Donatello's upper body with pillows. The turtle appeared to be suffering from both orthopnea and tachypnea as well, and this seemed to ease the rapid, shallow breathing that did little to supply much-needed oxygen.

Though he hated to do it, Leatherhead was also forced to instruct Splinter and the humans in the technique of urinary catherisation. He was painfully aware that his friend would be humiliated beyond belief with the knowledge that his father and the woman for whom he harboured a secret admiration were touching such intimate areas of his body in such a way, but there was simply no other option. Urine output and content would tell them much of Donatello's condition. Still, he winced in empathy with them as they carried out the procedure. They were as gentle and respectful as possible of his privacy, but it seemed no less a violation for all that. Mr Jones stood guard outside the door, both to remove himself from the room and to prevent anyone else from seeing. Leatherhead knew that his own considerable bulk would be a much more effective vision blockage, but the tactful gesture was not lost on any of them.

After these had been administered, there was nothing to do but wait until the bags were emptied and the next round of tests could be administered. The young girl Angel proved to indeed live up to her name as she firmly ferried sandwiches, chopped fruit, and a variety of beverages to everyone present. Only Professor Honeycutt was exempted due to his cybernetic nature, but that had not prevented the girl from entering the laboratory where the other Turtles were with several towering sandwiches and three large glasses of iced tea, which she proceeded to 'persuade' the other turtles to eat. Loudly. He himself had tried to explain that he was not hungry, but had been advised by the girl's own brother to "give up while you're behind". In the end, he aceeded – it was getting late and the young girl would soon have to be escorted home by her brother. He could well understand that she wanted to do what she could while she could, and it would certainly do him no harm to consume nourishment.

And so a routine was fallen into. Take fresh samples, test and analyse them, use the results to calculate the next treatment, and switch the drained IV bags for fresh ones. Ms O'Neill and Mr Jones took it in turns to take short naps to refresh themselves, as Splinter would not be moved from his son's side. Similarly, each of Donatello's brothers was told quite firmly to have a rest by Professor Honeycutt, and despite strong resistance from the turtles they eventually obeyed a sharp order from Splinter. _Ironic that each of them, even Splinter, recognises the hypocrisy in the order, yet nobody comments and all obey. Such, I suppose, is the power of a lifelong devotion to a sensei and parent._

Professor Honeycutt had indeed been thorough when making the list for medications, and there was more than one occasion where Leatherhead was deeply grateful for his friend's foresight. When Donatello suffered a second seizure, while not as dramatic or dangerous as the first had been, it was no less frightening to his family and friends. Fortunately, various benzodiazepine drugs had been included on Honeycutt's list, and the convulsions soon passed – a great relief for all involved, especially the Professor and Leatherhead.

Unfortunately, damage to the central nervous system via oxygen deprivation, cerebral edema or drug abuse could still not be ruled out. Although Donatello woke a few more times, the results were no better than Splinter's first effort no matter how hard Leatherhead tried to test his cognitive functions. Most distressing of all had been the moment when his brothers had finally brought the finished dialysis unit into the room, carefully carrying the jury-rigged, junky-looking machine as if it were the most precious and fragile antique in the world – only to be confronted with a confused and barely coherent Donatello who, for the first time, failed to correctly recognise members of his own family. Instead, he had babbled out a stream of apologies, making confusing remarks about Michaelangelo's arm, Leonardo's sight and Raphael's eye, as well as referring to Splinter and Mr Jones as being deceased, and apologies, forever apologies, before once more drifting into unconsciousness.

"Oh my." The Professor's voice spoke for them all. _What else is there to say?_ The process of placing Donatello on dialysis was done with a sense of fractured hope. Not yet broken, but hovering perilously close to it.

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…_Hurts. _

_Head hurts. Arms hurt. Legs hurt. Chest hurts. Stomach hurts. And – what…?Head stuffed up. Hard to think. I was… What is that noise? Who's talking? Something warm on my arm…_

Slowly, Donnie blinked, opening his eyes. As they finally came into focus, he realised that he was in – the infirmary? _What in the world am I doing here?_ Concentrating on listening, the noise he heard coalesced into clarity - it was Mikey's voice, speaking in a low voice to… yes, to Master Splinter.

Turning his face slightly in their direction, he heard and felt a rustle beneath his head – one that his brother and sensei seemed to hear as well, because their attention shot to him in a heartbeat with a speed and urgency that unnerved him.

"Donnie?! You're awake!"

"Donatello!"

"I… yeah. What's going on?"

Before Don had a chance to respond, Mikey was sprinting out into the Lair, bellowing "**HE'S AWAKE! DON'S AWAKE AND MAKING SENSE, EVERYONE!**" Donnie couldn't help but feel rather miffed at the 'making sense' comment – _I always make sense!_ – but this was quickly doused when he glanced at Splinter. _I… I don't think I've ever seen him look like that, except for the time that Leo almost… _

He never got a chance to finish the thought, as suddenly a stampede seemed to arrive at the door. Raph. Leo. April. Casey. _Of course, the party! I must have passed out! I'm such an idiot…_ However, he received a further shock when Leatherhead's considerable bulk entered the room, almost blocking a glimpse of Professor Honeycutt. _When did they get here? Surely they weren't called just because I fainted! I can't believe it!_ Deeply embarrassed, Don decided that burying himself under this pile of pillows he was on would be a very good plan if he'd had the energy.

"Donatello! What is the last thing you can clearly recall?" The sharpness in Leatherhead's voice made him jump. _What's gotten him so annoyed?_

"Well, the party. I was in the kitchen, trying to fix the oven. I remember standing up too fast, and I got really dizzy. I suppose I must have passed out, I – oh no, I threw up too, didn't I? I'm really sorry, guys."

"You are certain you remember these events clearly?"

Donatello stared at his friend in bewilderment. "What? Yes."

Leatherhead growled low in his throat. _Time to test more than his short-term memory, then. If the worst must be known, it needs to be known now. Academia, calculation and vocabulary, long-term memory, comprehension, fine-motor control, lateral thinking and general problem solving… all of these must be checked as thoroughly as I can._ "Donatello, how many arms does your brother Michaelangelo have?"

From the look on Donatello's face, he clearly found the question quite insane. "What?!" When a moment passed and no explanation was forthcoming, the turtle shrugged and said "Two, of course. You can see that for yourself." Vaguely a memory of the Ultimate Drako and an older, embittered Michaelangelo that had lost much more than just one arm flashed before him, but he firmly pushed it away. _Don't think about that. It's over. It's over._

Leatherhead shoved a diagram under his nose. "Why is this not an electrical circuit?" the crocodile demanded.

The answer was obvious as soon as the page swam into focus. "The loop isn't even closed. Leatherhead, what on earth is this abou-"

"Define an emulsion!" Leatherhead was clearly in no mood to be trifled with, and a glance at everyone else showed that they were waiting for his answer with a strangely urgent anticipation. Don decided that his safest bet was to shut up and answer the questions. _At least I can mark today down in my calendar as the day my brothers and Casey actually WANTED to hear my technobabble!!_

"An emulsion is a mixture where one substance is dispersed evenly through another, when the two substances are immiscible – that is, they don't mix, so they generally don't happen spontaneously. You need a third substance called an emulsifier if you want the mixture to stay stable instead of separating."

Absently, he rubbed at his eyes and temples, noticing with some shock that there was an IV canula inserted into the back of each hand. _When did that happen?! Has this got something to do with why everyone's acting so strangely?_

"What separates the so-called 'noble gasses' from the other elements in the periodic table?"

"Each of them has the maximum amount of electrons in their valence electron shells." _And speaking of shells, my plastron feels like someone's been stomping on it. I want to know why._ "Listen, could anyone –"

But overriding Leatherhead was no easy task. "Metal and material fatigue is what kind of process?"

Don sighed. "Stochastic, Leatherhead. You know that as well as I do." _Do I get to ask my own questions now?_

The answer, apparently, was 'no'. Leatherhead grilled him on scientific trivia as well as books he had read, asked him to recall numerous memories of his early childhood before asking Splinter and his brothers to confirm his accuracy, insisted he solve several verbal deductive reasoning puzzles… it was confusing and very, very frustrating. Annoyed, Don lifted the blanket on him with one hand in order to let out some of the stifling heat, and happened to glance down - _is that a CATHETER?? Right, that's it. I want answers NOW!_

Vaguely aware that Leatherhead was repeating the question, something about breaking the speed of sound, Don snapped crossly, "Simple. You let Raph do the driving." A nervous, near-hysterical laugh broke the silence, but Raph didn't even bother to smack Mikey for it – who, actually, didn't look like he was up to coping with getting smacked. "Guys, I've been patient, really. But I want to know WHAT is going on!"

Leatherhead was glaring at him with a look that said the crocodile was very angry and working extremely hard to control it. "You made this necessary yourself, my friend. You should well know that coffee and aspirin taken together on a regular basis in large amounts is a dangerous course of action."

Don sighed. _Oh no, not this again. Not Leatherhead too!_ "Believe me, as soon as I kick this flu, I'll be fine. I've just been a little under the weather and there's a lot to do –"

"You are incorrect. It was the aspirin itself that was making you ill – amongst other things. You now have an ulcer, and we were forced to treat your symptoms and create a makeshift dialysis machine to filter the salicylate and other toxins from your system."

Donatello was stunned. "I – what? Dialysis? But… no, I'm fine, really! I probably just needed to eat and sleep a little more, it can't have been such a big deal –"

With a roar of rage, Leatherhead punched the brick wall, making everyone jump. "Will you listen to yourself making such ridiculous excuses? Were it anyone else, you would see through the foolishness straight away! I tell you, my friend, you are fortunate to be alive! You suffered a severe seizure and pulmonary edema-induced cardiac arrest! CPR was unsuccessful, as were several attempts at defibrillation! Epinephrine injected directly into your heart was the only way to revive you – and I am certain you realise from these facts just how close you came to death!"

Don's mind was reeling. _I – but no, I can't have – could I? It was only a touch of the flu, I was so sure…_ "I…"

Seeing the shock and slowly dawning realisation on Donatello's face, Leatherhead decided to press on. _Shock him, frighten him, hurt his feelings if I must, but I must make him realise the magnitude of his error of judgement, and what it almost cost him! _"You are fortunate indeed to have kept both your life and your mind. You were without oxygen for a considerable period, and you woke up several times delirious and semi-coherent. We had very good reason to fear brain damage, Donatello!"

_Brain damage._ The words echoed in Don's ears like a living thing with a foreign aura, ugly, malignant, hateful. Mocking him, laughing with the laugh of one unable to function.

_Brain damage._

_Brain damage._

_Brain damage._

"NO! That's impossible!" And his heart was thumping so hard it was slamming inside his sore chest, and it was even harder to breathe than before.

"I assure, it was entirely possible. In fact, it was probable, and you are exceedingly fortunate to have escaped such a fate."

"But I couldn't have – _then_ what use would I be?!"

An appalled silence descended over the room. Nobody seemed to know what to say, least of all Donatello. _No! It wasn't – I didn't mean – oh shell April's crying now, DO something you moron, you made this mess, now fix it!_ Pushing himself upward to try and see everyone properly, he found himself caught in Splinter's firm hold. "I… I'm sorry," he stammered, hating how weak and unconvincing his voice sounded even to his own ears. "I didn't mean that like it sounded, I don't even know why I said it –"

Leatherhead sighed, a deeply sorrowful sound. "I think perhaps you do, my friend. And furthermore, I fear that you believe it."

"No, no, that isn't – I mean, I was just startled, I didn't mean to make it seem like–" Donatello's voice was cut off as Splinter's skilled fingers found a pressure point with unerring accuracy. The young scientist slipped instantly into unconsciousness, slumping down into his father's arms, and the wise rat allowed tears to fall as he berated himself for being so blind.

Helplessly, Leatherhead turned to assist Professor Honeycutt in ushering out the distressed humans and three very anguished brothers.

At least he could provide some measure of aid in assuaging their pain.

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Author's Notes: As always, reviews help me rather a lot. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn't!

The chapter title – "A Formula, A Phrase Remains" – comes from a line in Dirge Without Music by Edna St Vincent Millay, which is reproduced in whole at the end of the last chapter. Go look. It is a very good poem, yes.


	15. Good Intentions As Paving Stones

Author's Notes: I am SO sorry for the long delay! I can only plead a mixture of Real Life issues and writer's block. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it in some small way.

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For the turtles, the dojo and everything associated with it had been a large part of their lives for as long as they could remember – a constant in amongst changing, tumbling circumstances. After Don's shock outburst, nobody had been surprised when Leo had excused himself and retreated to the dojo almost at once, desperately seeking out the comfort of meditation. Likewise, Raph had followed practically on his brother's heels and started to pound the stuffing out of a punching bag, ignoring his own exhaustion in an attempt to make something else hurt as badly as he was.

What surprised both of them, however, was that Mikey came in not long after, holding Klunk tightly in his arms. He didn't say anything to interrupt either of his brothers, just sat down in a corner and watched them as he petted his beloved cat. _I gotta be here with them. Gotta be with my brothers. The ones that I can be with, anyway. I can't lose my family… I thought I knew my family…I thought I knew what my family THOUGHT…_

But the atmosphere in the dojo had changed. The familiar had become stifling, the comforting had become poisonous. Aside from the soft sounds of Leo's steady breaths and the grunts and thuds from Raphael and the unfortunate punching bag, there was a deadly, painful silence that none of the Turtles dared to break. Leo tried in vain to calm his whirling thoughts and bring them to order, to peace, but there was none to be found. _How am I supposed to find inner peace and serenity when Donnie practically admitted he feels more like one of the broken machines he repairs than a member of the family? How do I lead him away from that belief? Is it even possible? And how could I have let it grow in the first place? Without even __**seeing**__ it?_

Klunk sniffed at the air before headbutting Mikey's chin, nuzzling him and meowing unhappily. Something was wrong with his Michaelangelo, he knew it – but he didn't know what it was, only that he was very sad. And even his loudest purrs and firmly kneading paws didn't seem to make a difference – his Michaelangelo just kept stroking him with one hand, whispering softly. "It's okay, Klunkers. Uncle Donnie didn't really mean that. He just woke up a bit confused again. He didn't mean it at all. He'll be fine next time, okay? Just you wait, it'll all be-"

With a sudden roar of frustrated rage that made everyone jump and had Klunk cowering into Mikey's arms, Raphael suddenly snatched his sai from his belt and tore a long swathe in the punching bag, sand bleeding out onto the floor until the formerly resilient equipment had become a mere shrivelled husk of its former self. Raph watched, chest heaving, as the sand poured out into a pile on the floor before him, some stray grains flowing onto his feet.

"How _dare_ he?" he hissed, low and venomous and so full of pain that Klunk responded in kind from Mikey's arms, hissing at Raph with ears flattened. "How _dare_ Don go and _do_ this to us?!"

"Raph! This isn't Donnie's fault!"

"The hell it isn't!" Raph spat the words out. "Wasn't nobody else's fault, that's for sure! Did _**you**_ stop him from eating, Mikey? Or maybe _**you**_ told him he weren't allowed ta sleep no more, is that it, Leo? Did _**I**_ shove all that aspirin and coffee down his throat? Did _**Splinter**_ stand over him and force him ta work till he burned out? Cause if all o' that wasn't Don's own choice, then I'd love ta know who's ta blame here!"

Mikey was pale and shaken, but he stood up, still cradling Klunk, and glared at his brother nonetheless. "I know that, Raph! I'm not as stupid as you all think, okay? I just… it was an accident. A stupid accident like when you – well, when we met Casey." This was a touchy subject with both Mikey and Raph, and Leo tensed in preparation for any possible eruption. "It's the same thing here. Don did something silly but in the end everything worked out, so everything will go back to normal –"

"It won't be that easy, Mikey," Leo said as gently as he could. "You heard what Donnie said in there."

"He didn't mean it! He was just all shaken up by LH – all those crazy questions and then the shouting! _Anyone'd_ be freaked out with LH interrogating them like that and then saying what he did! Donnie didn't even know _what_ he was saying, I bet! He didn't mean what he said!"

"Give it up, Mikey," Raph sighed, in a voice rough with stress and pain and sympathy. "If he was shaken up, then he woulda said whatever he was thinkin'. He did mean it, and you know it."

Mikey shook his head in a vain effort to deny it once more. "No… No way…" Burying his face in Klunk's fur, the talkative turtle fell miserably silent.

"We can't go back to the way it was," Leo spoke finally. "That's part of what nearly killed Donnie. But we have to deal with _all_ of it or else there's no point dealing with _any_ of it."

"That is quite correct, Leonardo." All three of them looked to the door of the dojo to see their father and sensei standing there. "There will be a great deal of adjustments to be made on all of our parts."

"Sensei." They all bowed to him as one, the respectful gesture now second nature when one was in the dojo, and Splinter bowed back. "Donnie?"

"I have left him resting," Splinter assured them. "Leatherhead is monitoring him, however, he tells me that Donatello's recovery is continuing quite well. He will awaken soon enough, and I felt that perhaps I should discuss things with the rest of our family in the meantime. Come, my sons. Let us sit and talk in a gentler environment." Splinter lead them to his own room, where tea had been prepared. Raph and Mikey both hated green tea, but they took the cups out of courtesy and drank as they were bade to. Somehow, the ritual made them feel a little better – a reminder of a time when they would rush into their father's room crying because of bruised knees, scraped elbows and the like, to receive words of comfort, stinging antiseptic and a cuddle.

None of them would ever have admitted it, but they wanted their father to fix this as easily too.

"It seems to me that we all have a great deal to discuss – and a great amount of things to alter." Splinter spoke after a period of quiet, restoring silence. "I must begin by recognising that while I saw a potential solution to part of Donatello's work dilemma, I procrastinated in my intervention, and we are all well aware of the dangers of mere 'good intentions'. In this case, my neglect very nearly paved the road to hell for your brother in a literal sense."

"No, Sensei!"

"Master Splinter!"

"No, it wasn't –"

Splinter raised a paw to forestall any more protests from his sons. _What great good did I commit in a previous life to deserve four such devoted children?_ "At a time like this, we cannot afford to overlook anything, and I am not immune to failure." The three turtles shifted, obviously uncomfortable with hearing such a thing – much as their brother had done earlier when confronted with an apology from his father. _I wonder, do children every truly grow out of the belief that their parents cannot make mistakes of this magnitude? I know I myself have a hard time thinking of Master Yoshi or Tang Shen as anything less than perfection incarnate…_ A pang tore at his heart as he remembered Tang Shen's kindness, Master Yoshi's wisdom… _What would you say to me, Tang Shen, if you knew I had struck my son in his illness? What would you think of me, Master Yoshi, if you knew I failed to observe something I should have been the first one to see?_ "I had thought to encourage Donatello to teach all of us – myself included – to manage some of the more basic repairs without needing to call on him for help. In this way, we could free much time for him, both for the more complicated things that only he can manage, and for leisure time – though with Donatello it is often difficult to tell between the two."

He sighed. "Unfortunately, I allowed myself to be persuaded by Donatello himself to wait until the crisis with the mutant outbreak had passed before implementing this plan. Had I been more insistent that he relinquish the smaller tasks to us, it is possible that his illness would not have been so sudden or severe. I believe that ensuring a fairer division of work around our home is one of the first steps we must take." A swell of pride filled him as he watched his sons nod. He was well aware that Raphael was only comfortable in the repair of the vehicles, and that his other two sons were not even capable of that, yet they all stepped up without hesitation into roles that only Donatello had previously filled, for their brother's sake. _My fine sons. They wish so much to be part of Donatello's recovery in any way they can… _"I wish to know, before I continue, if you have any suggestions?"

All three started talking at once, before he sighed and glared them into submission. "One at a time, if you please."

Leonardo quickly spoke into the silence, before his brothers had a chance to cut in. "We need to make a roster that includes repair and maintenance work as well as our other chores. There's no point in us learning how to do it Don still ends up always being the one who does it, and having a roster might actually make him stick to it instead of doing it all himself.

Raphael nodded. "And we need to search the whole place for aspirin and coffee and throw the lot out. LH said that whether we like it or not, whether he meant to or not, Don's addicted to the aspirin," Everyone flinched, but Raph continued. _Yeah, I felt the same way. _"And that probably means he's got a secret stash, even if he doesn't think of it that way. And no more coffee, no caffeine drinks, nothing. We double and triple-check the shopping list, make sure he don't go topside by himself, the whole deal. Just in case he's tempted."

Michaelangelo cleared his throat. "Leo, I know you probably thought I was joking about this earlier, but I wasn't. I really think that maybe we need to have a "Family Night" every once in a while. You know, a night set aside to spend time with each other and just talk. If we'd talked to Donnie a bit more, we might have seen this before it got this far. And I really do think that maybe getting in the habit of talking to each other about the stuff that really matters isn't a bad thing, even if it is touchy-feely. So what? Look, I'm the Battle Nexus Cha – okay, okay, I won't say it! Put the teapot down! I meant, I'm a ninja. I already know I'm no wimp and that won't change just because I tell you guys 'I love you', you know?"

A long silence followed that speech as everyone in the room regarded Mikey without speaking. Just as Mikey was ready to bolt out of the door in embarrassment, Splinter spoke up. "That is an excellent idea, my son. And perhaps in the long run, it is the plan that will forge our family more strongly together, rather than rosters or restriction." And two green heads nodded solemnly at their brother, not a hint of mockery in their eyes.

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	16. Necessity Is The Mother Of Intervention

Author's Notes: First of all, I can only offer my sincerest apologies for the incredibly long delay in updating. I can only say that it was really important to me that I address the issues in the story properly, instead of just glossing over the uglier aspects of it. And there was a medical emergency for my Dad that made writing the last thing on my mind for some time.

Secondly, a lot of people may well think that Donnie is very out of character in parts of this chapter. I have a real reason for having him act like this, okay? Thanks for your patience with this incredibly slow author, and (finally) on with the fic!

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When Donatello awoke for a second time, he was in as much pain and discomfort as he had been before. However, this time he barely noticed it as something else had his attention.

_No. 'Brain damage'. It's impossible. There is no way I almost ruined the best part of myself. It just couldn't happen. But I can't believe I let my mouth say it like THAT. 'What use would I be?' – more like 'How can I make sure everybody feels really hurt and it's all my fault?' It isn't as though they'd shut me away in an institution somewhere – even if they could find a place for giant turtles. Our family just doesn't do things that way. They must think that __**I**__ think so little of them – it isn't true! They're the best family that anyone could ask for! And this is how I thank them for it? How do I fix THIS mess? I don't even know where to start! I don't think I could have possibly made things worse if I'd actually tried! _Desperately, he tried to push himself up, intent on finding someone – anyone – and start cleaning up the disaster he'd left behind.

_**CRASH!**_

Jumping at the sound and sliding back onto the pillows, Don blurted to the empty room, "What was THAT?" Not expecting an answer, he was startled when the oval, silver head of Professor Honeycutt popped around the side of the door.

"Ah, Donatello! It is good that you have awakened. I shall notify your family at once – they wished to know when you regained consciousness." The Fugitoid paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "Er, perhaps you should prepare yourself for a difficult conversation."

Don was already far too aware of how exactly difficult the conversation was probably going to be. "Before you go, Professor – what was that smashing noise just now?"

"Oh. That." A long pause followed.

"Yes, that. What was it?"

"Well, a few moments ago, your brother Raphael marched past me towards the kitchen. He was muttering something about 'dealing with the coffee maker' and seemed rather intent on his task. I can only surmise that it has just been 'dealt with', so to speak." And with that, the Professor hurriedly ducked out of sight, leaving Don staring speechlessly at the door.

"Did he say **why**?" Don finally asked weakly of the empty room. _I don't get it. Why would Raph…_

"Donatello?"

Blinking, he was brought out of his daze by the solemn voice of Master Splinter, who had slipped in and was being silently followed by Leo and Mikey. Raph slid in a few moments later, sheathing his sai into his belt. Don decided to ignore that for the moment. The atmosphere in the small infirmary was painfully and stiflingly intense, and it was time for some immediate damage control.

"Listen, I'm so sorry, what I said, it came out all wrong. I know I must have sounded absolutely ungrateful, but I –" he was cut off when Splinter raised a single paw.

"My son. We need to talk."

And while his father had the gentlest, saddest expression Don had seen on his face in a long time, he somehow had the distinct impression that he was utterly doomed.

He was right.

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_Ow. Oh shell, my head. Stupid head. Stupid body. Stupid everything…_ Sulking ferociously, Donnie nursed his aching head and foul mood as best he could from his position of enforced rest on the couch. Enforced, at the moment, by CASEY of all people, while the others were out on their first training run since the abortive party.

The past few weeks had been among the worst he'd ever spent in his admittedly rather short lifespan. Not only had he completely failed to explain that he hadn't meant that stupid 'what use' thing the way it had sounded, he also found out that Leatherhead had convinced them that he was addicted to aspirin and coffee – of all the ridiculous ideas! And he simply couldn't persuade them otherwise. Honestly, what was so hard to understand? He'd been tired, so he'd drunk some coffee. He'd thought he had a mild virus – well, really, how could he have known what SORT of virus it actually was? – and so he'd taken aspirin for the symptoms. Just a simple misunderstanding, and certainly nothing worth wrecking the coffee maker over – not to mention tearing up his room!

He'd tried explaining it all, over and over. He'd tried everything – he'd even resorted to saying it slowly and in words small enough that even a child could have understood it – with no result. _You'd think that one would have reached its target audience and convinced MIKEY, _Don thought viciously followed immediately by a startled blink. _There I go again. At least I didn't say it out loud this time! Geez, get a grip, Don! Every time I act like a creep, they get even more sure I'm an addict! And then they'll keep treating me like this. _

Which brought Don back to the reason for his foul mood in the first place. Not content with destroying the coffee maker and throwing out all the coffee, non-herbal teas and sodas in the Lair, Raph and Leo had conducted a full and extensive search in his room and lab, throwing out the emergency supplies of aspirin he'd kept. He didn't even want to remember Raph's reaction when he'd found the No-Doze caffeine tablets. _I never even took any! The seal was unbroken, I never swallowed even one, but would he believe me? No, of course not! That would have made too much SENSE!_

Oh, and the food. If you could define constantly force-feeding him a variety of bland, non-ulcer-aggravating mushy substances as 'food', that is. Don most certainly didn't. _I'd actually be grateful for one of Mikey's dreadful toast-sandwich towers, if only they'd let me eat it in my own time! But no, I have to eat everything right away, and then two hours later there's another giant heap of it pushed in my face! _It was enough to make him feel constantly ill.

Speaking of feeling ill… he constantly felt wretched. His head was splitting and his stomach burned, and every muscle in his body ached and throbbed. Leatherhead reassured him constantly that this was a normal stage in the 'detoxification process' (which he was NOT going through) and recommended that he drink plenty of water. Splinter, Leo, Raph and Mikey all seemed to think it was the new miracle-cure, judging by the amount they were constantly pressing on him. When he pointed out as patiently as he could that he would really appreciate the water a lot more if it had coffee in it, or came with a side of aspirin, Splinter responded by giving him a foul tasting willow-bark tea. Apparently this was all he was permitted now in the pain-killer department.It was utterly insane. Why was he the only one being punished for hoarding some basic necessities? Everyone else got away with it! Splinter never even punished Mikey for keeping that chocolate stash –

_Right under his bed. Next to the CD player he keeps in case his iPod dies. _

Don was moving before he had even finished the thought. Mikey's room was near enough to the bathroom for Casey to not get too suspicious –

Unless, of course, he was standing right there. Which he was.

"Going somewhere, Don?" Casey's voice was patronisingly calm, just as everyone else's had been recently and it grated right on Don's last raw nerve. _Yes. Yes, Casey, as a matter of fact I am. I suggest you move now._

Thoroughly frustrated and fed up with the interference of well-meaning people, Don had finally reached the end of his patience. He stepped into an imposing-looking ninja stance. He had no intention of actually striking Casey, but the man had no way of knowing that. He took a deep breath before beginning to speak as calmly as he could. "Casey, I want you to listen to me very, very carefully. I am incredibly annoyed right now at people who tell me to rest when I so much as turn my head. I'm sick of being told where I can and can't go, or what and when I can eat or drink. I am old enough to feed myself, and I can decide things for myself. I'm asking nicely, Casey. PLEASE get out of my way. Don't make me force the issue, because I have ninja training, and I'm not afraid to use it."

Casey's response was not at all what Don had expected. Instead of the vigilante yelling and losing his cool, he just calmly pulled out his Shell Cell. "That's real impressive, Don. But first of all, I gotta tell ya that Mikey trashed his chocolates way back – see, he figured pretty fast that you'd remember them sooner or later. And second, I don't have no ninja training, but I do have a phone number for a redhead on speed-dial, and I ain't afraid to use it."

… Game, set and match: Casey Jones.

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Leatherhead sighed. The situation was currently very difficult. Simply addressing the issue of Donatello's accidental admission of low self-esteem would have been a delicate enough endeavour by itself. However, the problem was currently compounded by both chemical and psychological matters.

Donatello had reached the stage of dependency on both drugs to the point where he required them to simply function normally, and withholding them from him had transformed the normally mild-tempered, logical turtle into a sullen, irritable creature with a lethally sarcastic tongue. There was simply no reasoning with him at this point, and therein lay the most immediate danger.

Donatello still refused to believe that addiction was the correct term to apply to his state. And until he accepted that fact, his recovery would remain purely physical, with no psychological healing whatsoever. The latest news was even more discouraging, as Mister Jones reported that Donatello had attempted to use trickery to appropriate a source of caffeine and, when that had failed, had resorted to threatening violence. _Donatello, of all people, taking violence as an option for anything other than defensive purposes – and for chocolate? Can he not see the irrationality of his own actions?_ Logic told him that this was normal, that extreme moods and irrational behaviour were simply another part of the detoxification process as the body began to adjust to the absence of the drugs. But it was still difficult to convince his emotions of that – and even harder to try and keep Donatello's family reassured that this too would pass.

Mikey was sitting at the kitchen table despondently, kicking idly at the ground with one foot. "I knew he'd remember my chocolate stash sometime, but I was kinda hoping that he wouldn't try to go for it anyway."

"You cannot expect Donatello to make rational decisions at this time, Michaelangelo," Leatherhead patiently explained for what felt like the hundredth time. "His body chemistry is currently in a highly confused state as it tries to stabilise itself without the presence of the substances he has been over-using. His moods and thoughts are going to be very unpredictable at this time – even he is not able to predict how he will feel five minutes from now."

"Oh, I can predict how he'll be acting five minutes from now," Raphael responded sourly as he leaned against the fridge. "He'll be acting like a complete little sh-"

"RAPHAEL!"

"…shell-for-brains. Just like right now, and five minutes ago, and five hours ago, and five DAYS ago. Don't need to be psychic to see the future on this one."

Michaelangelo sighed, rubbing his head. "I just – I don't get it. He's so smart, so why can't he see the problem? Isn't there any way we can show him? Leatherhead, the readouts you took, can't you use them as proof or something that he was having too much?"

Leatherhead shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, no, Michaelangelo. I have already tried this tactic in order to persuade him that the levels of toxins in his bloodstream were from his consumption of coffee and aspirin, but he stubbornly maintains his belief that this was due to the virus affecting the chemicals rather than his own actions. And since this was indeed a major contributing factor, I have no way of proving that he is not correct."

"Proof, huh?" Leonardo stood up, looking deeply thoughtful. "Perhaps we've been looking for proof in the wrong place. Don can interpret a readout any way he wants. We need something he can't misinterpret or deny no matter how hard he tries.."

"Well yeah, but like, what?"

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Author's Notes: I'm sure that right now a lot of you are thinking that I'm portraying Don as far too nasty and childish. But the truth is, withdrawal is like that. When a person reaches the 'drug dependence' stage, they need that substance just to feel normal, and if that person doesn't get it (either by quitting or by being forcibly kept away from it) it creates havoc with your body and brain chemistry, which in turn can make even the nicest person act positively feral. A women's addiction rehabilitation unit attend my church every week, and thus the 12 steps are often included in the sermons so that the women can identify it with their lives a bit better. I've learned quite a lot from these women and their brave honesty with themselves and others, so I think I'm actually portraying Don as being fairly mild, all things considered!

Thank you all so much for sticking with this fic despite the long break between chapters. Your reviews are all deeply loved and appreciated. Oh, and I promise, the next chapter will be up in about a week. No waiting two months this time, I swear!


	17. The Hardest Problem To Solve

Author's Notes: I apologise for the fact that a) this chapter is so late, and b) that it is so short. I have no excuse.

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_  
Smile and nod. Just smile and nod._ Since his family and friends had all decided to develop insanity simultaneously, Don had been forced to develop some coping mechanisms for the Constant Conversations Of Doom – which consisted of any talk that contained the phrase 'it's for your own good.' It was a phrase Don was beginning to dread, and he was worried that like Pavlov's dogs, he'd soon be reacting to the phrase instinctively. The question was whether the reaction would be automatic smiling or nodding, or homicidal rage._ Yes Sensei, No April, Three bags full Leatherhead. Yes, I love you guys too. Honestly, I do. Which is why I REALLY don't want to be this angry with you. Please go away now. _

"Yo, Donnie! Present for ya!" Don was jolted out of his reverie by the sound of Raph's voice overriding April's. _Oh, thank heaven for that. I thought I was about to scream!_ His elevated mood was extremely short-lived, however, when the 'present' landed on his lap – a tied-off garbage bag full of something. "Gee, Raph. Thanks."

"Yeah, you better be grateful. Me and Leo had to go dumpster diving for that."

"My gratitude cannot be calculated, I promise you," Donnie noted dryly, removing the bag from his legs with a look of disgust.

"Funny you should mention calculating, actually," Leo said in a voice that made Don tense instantly. _That's his 'I'm up to something but I'll use an innocent tone and Sensei will never know because I'm the leader' voice. What's going on in his head??_ "See, Donnie, we actually want you to do us a favour and calculate something." He handed his brother a notepad and pen.

"And you thought that you'd repay the favour by bringing me a garbage bag?" _They've officially flipped. Perhaps Bishop's experimental facilities at least serve decent coffee to the inmates – and Bishop tortured Leatherhead for months what am I THINKING?!_

"Oh, it ain't just any old garbage bag. It's actually our garbage bag. See, me and Leo filled that up when we ransacked the place looking for your little hidden goodies," Raph said, using his sai to rip open the bag and spill a bunch of empty aspirin bottles and coffee packets over Don's lap and the couch. Automatically, he picked one up and frowned as the weight told him instantly it was empty.

"You say you don't take too much aspirin. Okay, fine, we'll believe you, bro – if you can **prove** it. You write down how much aspirin used ta be in each bottle, how much of that sally-whatever was in each, how long you were taking it, and work out how much you had a day. LH will be checking the numbers, by the way, so don't try any tricks. If it's a safe amount, we'll let you take some for your headache. If even you can't prove that it's safe, you admit you got a problem. Deal?"

"I…" Donnie was speechless. "Are you crazy? There's no way you can be sure that this was the bag you threw out– "

Leo reached into the tear in the bag to reveal an untouched bottle of No-Doze, then spun the torn bag over to reveal "**DONNIE'S DAMN CRAP!!**" written in huge letters in Raph's messy scrawl. "Raph was a bit upset when we found so much. Next question?"

"You have to be kidding me! This is stupid, I –"

"Do you remember when you started taking the aspirin and drinking all the coffee?"

"I've ALWAYS drunk coffee!" Don snapped defensively.

"And the aspirin? You took that all the time too, or just when you got sick?"

"When I started feeling sick." _Like now. I'm beginning to feel cornered and I don't even know why!_

"And you know when that was?"

"If you mean you're looking for the exact date and time, then no!"

Exasperation flickered through Leo's voice. "A general idea of the time frame will do. You do remember that?"

"Yes," sighed Donnie. It looked like there was no way out of this. _They've filled the bag up with other empty containers while they were chucking my stuff. That's the only explanation for it being so full._ Clicking the pen, he wrote down his best estimate of how long he had been feeling ill and taking the aspirin, before underlining it a tad more viciously than necessary, unnerved by all the eyes watching him and the unnatural silence. Picking up the first bottle, he quickly noted down the number of tablets per container and the concentration of active ingredients in each tablet. Reluctantly, he wrote down the recommended dosage too. It wouldn't surprise him if Leatherhead insisted he hadn't done it properly otherwise. Flicking through the containers with his eyes, he frowned for a moment. _There's something wrong here… what's out of place?_ Then it hit him like a crack of lightning.

Nothing was out of place. Each bottle was identical, the same size and shape, the same design on the label. Empty aspirin bottles and coffee packets. The only thing that stood out was that damn No-Doze bottle – and the brand names were all correct, too. _This couldn't REALLY be all mine… could it? _"Keep going, Don," Leo instructed, gently but firmly. _I'm sorry, but you have to realise what you've been doing to yourself, what nearly happened._

Swallowing, Don began writing again slowly. The only sound in the lair was the scritching of the pencil on paper as Don tallied estimated dosages, time frames, and factoring in his body weight – which was promptly corrected by Leatherhead, much to his shock and mortification. _Surely I couldn't have lost so much weight… _Drawing up a rudimentary graph, he finally marked down two numbers – one for caffeine and one for aspirin – and circled them for emphasis before labelling them as the daily dosages, hands shaking. Silently, he handed the paper to Leatherhead before hunching over and wrapping his arms round his midsection, not bothering to watch the crocodile's reaction, nor that of his family as the paper was passed around.

Raph was the first one to break the silence. "Well, I ain't no expert or nothin', but I'm guessing these numbers here are too high to be safe, huh?" he asked, his voice dry. _Guess that's proof enough for anyone. Crud, we're lucky ta still have him __**alive**__._

"…Yeah," Don managed to force out. _That much?_ Dazed, he could only seem to think in circles, _that much that much not possible that much dangerous that much that much TOO much not enough that much that much need more that much that much…_ Bile rose in his throat as he realised that he was trying to open one of the empty bottles, and he dropped it as if it had burned him.

Seeing that Donatello was close to hyperventilating, Splinter laid a calming paw on his shoulder. "My son, I am sorry we had to do this. But your nature has always been to solve problems, and one of the first things I taught you was that in order to solve a problem, one must have an understanding of the nature of the problem. Do you understand now?"

"Ye-es," and his voice had cracked, could things get any more humiliating? _Sure they can,_ his mind whispered cruelly, _you're an addict. An aspirin junkie. Just like they've been trying to tell you all along. Great work, idiot._

And for the first time that Donnie could recall in years… he cried. He cried without shame or restraint, feeling the hot tears stain his skin, clinging desperately to the many arms holding him that would never, ever let him go. "M'sorry," he choked out in between wrenching sobs that shook his whole body, "m'sorry sorry sorry so sorry..." He didn't know whose shoulder his face was buried in and he was vaguely aware of someone bathing his head with a cool cloth and voices from every direction were telling him that it was okay, everything would be fine, but he knew better, he knew. He was dirty, and as he wept he wondered if he'd ever be clean again.

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A/N - I know it's been a long time you've had to wait for a pathetically short chapter, but please review anyway.


	18. Tea And Cakes And Ices

A/N – Yes, I haven't updated for months. I can only apologise and hope this chapter makes up for it in some small way.

"_Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,  
__Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?"- Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot._

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Life went on, and Mikey watched it march along, just as Splinter, Leo, and Raph did. He didn't want to admit it, but somehow something about his clever brother breaking down and weeping like a child in their arms had shaken him badly. In its own way, it had been almost as frightening as seeing him collapsed in his own blood, or watching Leatherhead plunge a needle into his chest.

For as long as Mikey could remember, Donnie had **never** cried. Even as a kid, Donnie was just too calm and clever to cry – and maybe too busy drying his brothers' tears. He'd been the brother whose bed Mikey had run to as a child when his nightmares had driven him awake after too much late night TV; the brother who always listened to Mikey's crazy ideas and laughed with him, not at him; the brother who was the first to step in and break up any fights when they began to look ugly. He knew that Raph and Leo also relied on Donnie too, in their own ways, to keep them from getting too intense and exploding their shells over the Lair. But now Donnie needed them – and Mikey wasn't entirely sure of what to do, or even if there was anything he **could** do.

The Day Of Calculation, as Mikey had come to think of it, had been a major turning point for Don. Like Leatherhead had told them, once Donnie had finally understood what he'd been doing, things **did**become easier, in a way. Donnie didn't fight them any more when he was given food or water, and struggled gamely to eat what he could. He still insisted that the tiny portions were too large, but he was managing to eat just a tiny bit more each day, as his stomach started to learn how to take food in again. Physically, he was doing much better, and the fact that he was actually working with them instead of against them was a major bonus.

But… well. But.

Mikey was old enough to admit to himself that he'd somehow hoped that Don could pull a miracle out of thin air yet again. To get better all of a sudden, to actually **be** the big brother he'd thought he'd known.

Of course it wasn't happening that way. Even with Donnie's best efforts, there were good days and bad days – days where he would snap and say hurtful things, then be crushed with remorse on a wild mood swing. _Days where –_

Suddenly, Raph grabbed Mikey by the shoulders, shaking him. "Mikey! You seen Don? Please tell me he's in your room!"

Mikey groaned. Not again. "Nope. Leo or Sensei?"

_- days where Don managed to slip away from his designated watcher -_

"It was Leo's damn DAY! Fearless Leader got out-stealthed by the geek-in-rehab! We checked **everywhere** in the Lair – your room was the last left! LEO! He ain't here!"

Leo stuck his head in, a Shell Cell in one hand. "I have his Shell Cell signal. He's a few miles away, at the sewer runoff junction."

Mikey blinked. "He's out in the sewers? That's new…"

- _only to be found collapsed on the floor of his lab or dojo, having stubbornly pushed his recovering system too far once more in a desperate attempt to prove that he was healthy once more._

"We'd better go get him, guys – the signal isn't moving. Unless he dropped it…"

The trip to the runoff junction was depressingly silent, as each of them was lost in his own thoughts. Once they got there, however, there was noise. Plenty of it.

"Just **what** exactly do ya think yer **doin'** out here Don – or are ya thinkin at all?" Raph demanded of his brother as soon as he reached his side. "Lyin' out here on freezin' cold concrete, ya gone mad or somethin? Why d'ya keep** doin'** this ta us?!"

Don just turned his head away, miserable yet defiantly silent. Mikey bit his lip – Don looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut, limbs crumpled uncomfortably where he had fallen. His Shell Cell sat snugly in his belt, unused and mocking them all.

And then it was Leo's turn. "Donnie, you can't keep doing this to yourself. You're not well enough yet for this type of exertion."

To Mikey's great surprise, Don actually answered them this time. _Usually he won't say anything till we get back to the Lair and Splinter talks to him_. "I won't get better if I don't give my muscles a chance to build up their strength, Leo. I need to build muscle mass, not fat, and low-impact exercise is important for that. Walking is the ideal exercise at this point –"

"Can't ya just stay in the Lair and walk around the dojo a few times then?" Raph demanded exasperatedly as he hefted Don up despite his protests. "No, jus' be quiet, fer crying out loud. Yer stupid enough to go walkabouts in the sewers and not call us when ya collapse, ya can just get carried like the baby yer actin' like." Even Don's most acid glare did nothing against Raph's solid wall of anger. "How many times does this make, Don? I swear, yer gonna give all of **us** ulcers if this keeps up."

Don glanced away again. "I just want to get better, Raph. I'm sick of being an invalid. It isn't unreasonable to be taking a proactive role in my own recuperation."

"It is when you try to do too much too soon, bro. C'mon, Donnie, can't you see this is just the same as before?" Mikey pleaded. But Don seemed to have a Ph.D in Passive Aggressive Resistance 101, because he just wasn't listening. To anyone.

Mikey sighed as he listened to Splinter lecture Don yet again, now safely ensconced on the couch and swathed in blankets. _The problem is, Donnie isn't doing this just 'cause he's trying to get better faster – even though he __**thinks**__ that's the only reason. He's doing this because he's BORED. And it looks like a bored Donnie is just as dangerous to himself as a busy one. We need to stop him being bored, and pronto. Hey, that gives me an idea…_

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"Hey! Dooonnnnnnnnnnnnniiiiiiiiieee!" The sudden call jolted Don out of his near-doze on the couch, which he was rapidly coming to despise along with all pieces of furniture that were made to be sat or laid upon. He glanced up to see a sight that could chill any mutant turtle – or rat – to their very bones in zero point six seconds.

The patented Hamato Michaelangelo Grin of I-Have-An-Evil-Plan. Otherwise known as The Grin That Means** Disaster**. Especially when Hamato Michaelangelo is holding a tray full of Don-safe snacks and two huge glasses of iced peppermint tea. Don could smell the sweet mint from several paces away.

_Escape! Escape!_ His mind shrieked frantically at him even as he automatically caught the thing flying at his head. He blinked. "This is your Wii controller."

"Well, actually, it's the spare I bought after I totalled mine the last time. _This_ is mine." Mikey indicated the identical controller – or rather, identical except for multiple scratches and various signs of abuse – sitting on the tray. "I was kind of hoping you'd play Mario Kart Wii with me."

Don blinked. "Weren't you playing that other Mario game? The one where you rescue Princess Pear – again?"

"Princess PEACH! And yeah, I was, but I thought this might be more fun. It's supposed to be really good, and you always did love Mario Kart back when we had that really old SNES you patched up for us. You loved being Luigi, for some weird reason. Me and Leo and Raph would all be fighting over who got to be Mario or Bowser, and you were already sitting there with Luigi picked out, happy with being the sidekick." Mikey decided to ignore the sudden queasy feeling his own words caused in favour of Distracting Donnie And Making Him UnBored So He Doesn't Have To Be Tied Down To Stop Him Getting Up From The Couch. _And really, what better way to do that than videogames?_

"I don't know Mikey… I haven't played videogames in a long time, and I don't even know how these controller things work…" _Oh no. Not the Puppy Dog Eyes of Shiny Doom. Anything but those…_ "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give it a go, it isn't as though I'm actually doing anything anyway." Donnie knew perfectly well that Mikey had caught the verbal jab, and also knew perfectly well that the little brat was ignoring it in favour of doing his own thing. _Eat your heart out, Mythbusters. Mikey was perfecting "I reject your reality and substitute my own" long before Adam Savage ever said it. _

"GREAT! I'll set it up in no time. Dude, you're going to love it!"

Don sighed. Mikey had his heart set on playing Mario Kart, and he'd get no peace whatsoever until Mike got exactly what he wanted. _The little sneak knows that I'll give in if he keeps it up long enough. Oh well. _Examining the white rectangle in his hand, he wondered exactly how he was supposed to control it – and found it promptly whipped out of his hands and turned sideways.

"Here, dude, you tilt it like the wheel of a car. I'll just start up the game…" Mikey frowned as the screen failed to respond to his clicks. He checked the batteries – _no, they're new. _He checked the Wii-mote – _no, Don fixed that back before… well, before. _Standing up, he tried hitting the restart button on the Wii itself, to no effect. "Aww, _man_!" _What if I lose all my savegame data? And how'm I supposed to distract Donnie and get him to chat with me like we used to, without some background noise? This sucks!_

_Uh-oh_. Don saw the look on Mikey's face quite clearly. _He loves that Wii, and for whatever reason, he really seemed to have his heart set on playing this afternoon._ "Don't worry, Mikey," he reassured him as he stood up from the couch, glad to have a valid excuse for once. "I'll take it into the lab and have a look. It could just be that some circuits need adjusting. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes to figure out what's wrong, no matter what, and then – ooof!" Halfway through reaching for the plugs that connected the Wii to the TV, Don found himself unceremoniously pulled back and deposited back on the couch. "Wha- Mikey!"

"No, Don, don't. It's fine, dude, it's not the end of the world or anything. I'll send it to the shop, it should still be under warranty – um, I think. I kinda lost the paper…"

_Back to the shop?!_ Don stared in disbelief at the poor battered console. _If the shop sees it, it'll be taken away by Nintendo Console Welfare! He'll never see it again!_ "Mikey, don't be silly. Just let me fix it – it's not exactly an all-night project."

"_No_, Donnie, there's totally no need. Look, let me just look in here, I know I stocked the old Playstation 2 in here somewhere…" And Mikey began throwing open cupboards and rifling through them with an air of desperation.

Now Don was beginning to feel severely irritated, and more than a little hurt. _Does he think I can't do it?! _"Mikey, for heaven's sake, let me fix this thing," he snapped, kneeling once more in front of the Wii and pulling out cables one by one. "It isn't difficult. I always fix our stuff, it's my job, it's what I _do_, okay, – _**unmf**_!"

And Don was stunned to find himself flat on his back, Mikey straddling him, holding his arms down and looking at him with a mix of anger and fright that twisted at Don's gut. _What? What did I do to make Mikey so upset?_ A tear splashed on his face. "…Mikey? What is it?" he asked tentatively.

Mikey's breath was choking in his chest like a rattling newspaper. "You – you don't get it, do you? You still don't get it, you still don't believe us – it _isn't_ your job and it _isn't_ who you are! We nearly lost you because you fixed everything but YOU! Don't you get it? I don't care if I lose my Wii, Raph doesn't care if he loses his bike, Leo doesn't care if we have to deal with our enemies without tech, Splinter doesn't care if the whole Lair goes without electricity! We've lived like that before, dude, remember? We can totally cope without your cool toys if we have to, but we CAN'T cope without you! You're our brother! You matter more than some gadget you cooked up!"

"Mikey…" And Donnie was lost for words, how could he make his little brother feel better when he didn't even understand the feelings that were rolling around inside himself, _and don't you dare come out, this is Mikey's time…_ "Little bro, it's okay…"

"No it's not! I mean, you like doing tech stuff, you have done since we were kids. I get that, we all do." Don nodded, unsure where Mikey was trying to go with this. "And whenever you managed to get something new going – lights, hot water, kitchen things like a fridge and stove… well, we were all totally grateful, especially Master Splinter, and we said thanks. We meant it too, totally – none of us could have done that. But Don, just because we made a big deal out of saying thanks didn't mean that we were saying you didn't matter any other time!"

"Mikey, I never thought that!"

"You sure?" Mikey's rage had run out, replaced with a dull sadness that hurt Don just to look at. "'Cause nobody gets it, Don, and we all wanna help you but we can't till you get that you're important cause you're YOU, not because you fix stuff." Slumping sideways off Don, Mikey fell gracelessly on his rear and curled his knees up to his chin. "We don't want you to make a neverending supply of shiny toys like some green Santa Claus, we just want you to be healthy and happy and _here_, Donnie, and I swear if you leave us 'cause you don't get that, _won't_ get that, then I won't forgive you _ever._ I don't think I'll be able to!"

Blood frozen to ice, bones frozen to shards, Don found it hurt to breathe, and so he didn't.

"_How the shell could you just abandon us like that?"  
_"_How the shell could you just abandon us like that?"  
_"_How the shell could you just abandon us like that?"  
_"…onnie?…"  
"_How the shell could you just abandon us like that?"  
_"Don …"  
_"How the shell could you just abandon us like that?"  
_"…orry, jus…" _How the shell_ "…ap out of …" _could you_ "…ake u…" _just abandon us _"…lease…" _like that?_ "DONNIE!"

Blinking, Don broke out of his haze, the echo of a nightmare ringing in his ears, to see his true little brother right before his eyes, above him and shaking him and near tears. "Don? Oh, thank – I'm sorry, so sorry, I didn't mean it, of course I'd forgive you anything – oof!"

And Donnie grabbed onto his brother tightly, half-dragging him onto the floor. "M'sorry," he mumbled, unable to say anything else. _I can't let that happen, I can't, have to… anything. Anything that stops that future. Anything that prevents that bitter Mikey, defeated Leo, despairing Raph. Dead Splinter. _

_Anything._

He reluctantly pulled away from his brother after a moment, forcing a smile onto his face. "I'm fine Mikey. I'm sorry – you're right. I guess I'm still not as well as I'd hoped. It's – well, you know how much I hate being kept away from my lab like this." He sighed, before putting his computer firmly out of his mind. "So… you said there was the PS2 around here somewhere? I think I remember enjoying watching you play that game… what was it? Ratchet and Clank?"

"Yeah, that's the one!" Mikey brightened. "That series really was funny. You wanna try it out? The third one had multiplayer as well as some of the coolest weapons, and we definitely have about four controllers in there somewhere."

Don thought about it. _I need to exercise and build up muscle tone. I need to do some more maintenance before the whole Lair falls down around our ears. I need to…make sure I'm still here in thirty years._ Shrugging his shoulders, he grinned. "Why not? Sounds like fun, Mikey."

"DUDE!" Mikey was ecstatic, and pulled him back to the couch with an undignified squawk of surprise from Don. "Let's see if you haven't lost your touch!" Still, there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. _That was scary. On the floor, eyes open and blank and dead, not moving, hardly breathing… And then he wakes up and does a total 180 with the rest thing… way too easy. _

_I think maybe he isn't gonna like the first Family Night… specially since, you know, nobody's told him about them yet. _

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TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT**  
_**TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT TMNT**_

A/N – Well, sorry this took so long! I was reading The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock and I couldn't resist using a quote from it as the title – it was too perfect. In fact, _several_ quotes from that poem are great for this fic… Hmmm, future titles, maybe?


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